Chương 4
Daniel looked at the dark reflection of himself in the window.
“Am I still CFO?”
Martin did not answer immediately.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you can separate your obligations as a father from your fiduciary obligations as an officer.”
The sentence was careful enough to have been discussed before the call.
Daniel pressed his forehead against the cool glass. “I’m taking family medical leave.”
“Of course.”
“You’ll receive the paperwork in the morning.”
“Daniel, before you do anything formal, think about the consequences.”
“I have.”
“I don’t believe you have.”
The line went quiet.
Martin had taught Daniel how to drive a manual transmission in the parking lot behind the first Cross Meridian warehouse. At Daniel’s wedding, he had danced badly with Rachel and given them a toaster that lasted fourteen years. He had also spent his career making Evelyn’s decisions sound like neutral necessities.
“Did Julian tell you who was driving?” Daniel asked.
“I’m not discussing an ongoing investigation.”
“That means yes.”
“It means exactly what I said.”
Daniel ended the call.
Mia had opened her eyes again.
“Eight thousand people?” she asked.
He turned from the window.
“You heard that?”
“He was loud.”
“He was on the phone.”
“Still loud.”
Daniel returned to the chair.
“Are they going to lose their jobs because of me?”
“No.”
“Because of Grandma?”
“No one knows what will happen.”
“That means maybe.”
“It means adults are using the worst possibilities to scare each other.”
“Is it working?”
Daniel glanced at the phone in his hand.
“Yes.”
Mia considered this. “You can be scared and still tell the truth.”
He looked at her for a long time.
“That’s what Nurse Claire said about being brave.”
“She’s smart.”
“She says hospital pudding is good.”
“She’s not smart about everything.”
Mia smiled without showing her teeth. The expression lasted only a moment, but Daniel felt the room shift around it.
He slept for forty minutes before dawn, his head tilted against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest.
At seven, Detective Reed returned with a woman named Dr. Lena Ortiz, a forensic interviewer who wore gray slacks and carried no visible notebook. She spoke first with Daniel in the hallway, then with Mia while Daniel watched from behind a glass panel with Reed.
The interview lasted twenty-three minutes.
Dr. Ortiz asked Mia to describe everything she remembered from the evening of the crash without suggesting names. Mia spoke about the restaurant’s red napkins, the argument Julian had with Evelyn near the coat check, the mint gum Peter gave her, and the way Julian’s phone kept lighting up in the cup holder. She remembered Peter offering to drive. She remembered Julian saying he was fine.
She remembered the road curving.
She remembered Peter shouting his name.
She remembered glass moving through the air like ice.
When Dr. Ortiz asked what happened after the vehicle stopped, Mia pressed her lips together.
“I couldn’t breathe right.”
“Take your time.”
“There was smoke.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. In the car. Maybe outside.”
“What did you hear?”
“Uncle Julian said, ‘Take it.’”
“Who was he speaking to?”
“Peter.”
“What happened next?”
“Peter said, ‘No.’”
“And then?”
Mia’s right hand curled around the edge of the blanket.
“Uncle Julian said Grandma would take care of it.”
Behind the glass, Daniel closed his eyes.
Reed looked at him. “Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Has Julian ever used similar words with you?”
Daniel did not answer.
Reed waited.
The pause stretched long enough that Daniel could hear the faint hum of the ventilation system above them.
“Yes,” he said finally.
“When?”
“Most of our lives.”
Dr. Ortiz ended the interview when Mia became tired. She did not tell Mia she had done well. She thanked her for talking and asked whether she wanted apple juice or water.
“Water,” Mia said.
Afterward, Reed walked Daniel to a consultation room across the hall. A laminated poster on the wall showed cartoon lungs with smiling faces. Daniel sat beneath it.
Reed remained standing.
“What happened most of your lives?”
“My mother fixed things.”
“What kind of things?”
“School trouble. Car accidents. Lawsuits. Debts.”
“Whose?”
“Julian’s, mostly.”
“Did he have previous impaired-driving incidents?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Daniel stared at the poster.
“When he was twenty-two, he hit a parked car after a party. No one was inside. My mother paid the owner directly.”
“Police report?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Anything else?”
“He was arrested for possession in college. The charge disappeared.”
“Charges don’t disappear.”
“The witnesses changed their accounts.”
Reed sat across from him.
“What have you changed your account about, Mr. Cross?”
Daniel’s eyes moved toward the door.
“Nothing.”
“You told the first officer at the hospital that you did not know who had been driving.”
“I didn’t.”
“Your daughter says Julian was driving.”
“I wasn’t in the car.”
“Your mother apparently believes you need your daughter to recant.”
“That doesn’t mean I knew before Mia told me.”
Reed leaned back. “Did Julian contact you on the night of the crash?”
The answer reached Daniel’s throat and stopped there.
His phone felt heavy in his pocket.
Julian had sent a voice message at 9:42 p.m., twelve minutes after the first emergency call. Daniel had been driving toward Riverbend Road when it arrived. He had listened at a red light.
Danny, I screwed up. Peter’s going to say he was driving. Don’t argue right now. Mom knows. Just get to the hospital and stay with Mia.
Daniel had listened again in the hospital parking garage.
At 11:18, Evelyn had taken his phone from his hand, opened the message, and told him to delete it.
He had moved it into a hidden folder instead.
May you like
He told himself he had done it because he could not think clearly. Then because he might need it for insurance. Then because deleting it felt like stepping over a line he could still pretend he had not crossed.
For three days he had said nothing.
