Chapter 8 - The Body in the CarThe body wasn't Daniel.
Eleven minutes was enough.
Nathan had entered through a service corridor using credentials belonging to a hospital board member.
He never reached Olivia's room.
Daniel stopped him first.
Security footage showed Daniel stepping into Nathan's path.
They argued.
Nathan's men attacked.
Daniel was struck twice and dragged into an elevator.
Nathan escaped without Olivia.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that Daniel disappeared with him.
When we returned, Olivia was sitting upright despite Alan's orders.
“I told Daniel to leave.”
“He saved your life.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
I showed her the security footage.
Nathan walking toward her room.
Daniel confronting him.
Daniel being dragged away.
Olivia watched twice.
Then whispered, “Why?”
“Because he's your husband.”
“He lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“And he still protected you.”
“Yes.”
Tears rolled down her face.
Love and anger can occupy the same room.
Sometimes they become roommates for years.
“I need to tell you something,” she said.
“What?”
“I know who Sentinel is.”
My pulse jumped.
“Who?”
“I think it's Alan.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“Dad—”
“Alan Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“My Alan?”
“He had access to Mom's medical records.”
“He was her doctor.”
“Exactly.”
“He's been my friend for twenty years.”
“And Nathan was your friend for thirty.”
That landed.
Still, my mind resisted.
Alan had treated Caroline.
Alan delivered Olivia when our obstetrician was stuck in traffic.
Alan had spent Thanksgiving at our table.
Could my entire life have been built around men lying to me?
“What evidence?”
“Mom's private toxicology report.”
“What about it?”
“It was ordered by a physician using hospital credentials.”
“Alan?”
“No. Someone using his credentials.”
“Then why blame him?”
“Because the original report disappeared from Mom's chart.”
“That could be Nathan.”
“It could.”
“So?”
Olivia looked at me.
“Alan called Nathan sixteen times during the month Mom died.”
I said nothing.
“Dad.”
“I heard you.”
“I found phone records.”
“There could be an explanation.”
“There always is.”
I stood and walked to the window.
Below us, reporters had gathered outside the hospital.
Nathan's public accusations had transformed everything into spectacle.
“He saved your life last night.”
“Doctors do that.”
“Alan called me.”
“And maybe he needed you here.”
“For what?”
“To make sure you found the message.”
My skin prickled.
HE LIED TO YOU TOO.
What if “he” wasn't Daniel?
What if it was Alan?
Olivia continued.
“I don't think Nathan attacked me because I discovered the money.”
“What else did you discover?”
“Mom's autopsy.”
“She didn't have one.”
“Exactly.”
I turned.
Olivia looked terrified.
“She requested one in writing.”
“What?”
“Two months before she died.”
“No.”
“I found the request.”
“She knew she was dying.”
“She wanted testing performed after death.”
“And?”
“There wasn't an autopsy.”
“Why?”
“The order was canceled.”
“By whom?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Dr. Alan Mercer.”
I felt physically sick.
I wanted to reject it.
But evidence doesn't care whom you love.
I walked into the hallway.
Alan was at the nurses' station.
For a long time, I simply watched him.
My friend.
Or maybe Nathan's.
He noticed me.
“How is she?”
“Better.”
“Good.”
“Why did you cancel Caroline's autopsy?”
His face didn't move.
That was the answer.
People who are innocent react.
Confusion.
Anger.
Shock.
Alan simply stood still.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Answer.”
He glanced around.
“Not here.”
“Here is fine.”
“Richard.”
“Did you cancel it?”
“Yes.”
Something inside me broke.
I grabbed him and pushed him into an empty room.
Torres followed immediately.
“Colonel!”
I released him.
“Why?”
Alan straightened his shirt.
“Because Caroline asked me to.”
“Lie.”
“She did.”
“She requested an autopsy.”
“She changed her mind.”
“When?”
“The night before she died.”
“Was she conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Was I there?”
“No.”
“Convenient.”
“Richard.”
I slammed my palm onto a table.
“My wife believed she was being poisoned!”
Alan went pale.
So he knew.
“You knew.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Torres stepped between us.
“Doctor, you're going to explain everything.”
Alan sat.
For the first time in twenty years, he looked old.
“Caroline came to me nine months before she died. She thought someone had been exposing her to arsenic.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“She made me promise.”
“Everyone apparently made decisions for me.”
“She was protecting you.”
“From Nathan?”
Alan looked up sharply.
That was another answer.
“You knew about him.”
“I suspected.”
“Suspected?”
“Caroline told me pieces.”
“And the autopsy?”
“She asked me to cancel it because Nathan threatened Olivia.”
My fists clenched.
“He knew she had requested it.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you talk to him?”
Alan's silence condemned him.
“How many times?”
“Too many.”
“Why?”
“Because he told me if I didn't cooperate, Olivia would suffer.”
“My daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You helped him protect himself to protect my daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Did you poison Caroline?”
“No!”
That answer came with genuine fury.
“I loved Caroline like family.”
“Did Nathan poison her?”
“I don't know.”
“That's not enough.”
“I never had proof.”
Torres asked, “Why were you in contact with Cole?”
“He demanded updates on Caroline's condition.”
“And you gave them?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“You told him when my wife was dying.”
Alan's eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
I wanted to hit him.
Instead, I asked the only question that mattered.
“Are you Sentinel?”
Confusion flashed across his face.
“What?”
“Sentinel.”
He shook his head.
“I don't know what that means.”
Torres watched carefully.
I believed him.
Then Alan said something unexpected.
“But Caroline did.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Three days before she died, she woke up after midnight and asked me to write something down.”
“What?”
“I thought it was medication-related confusion.”
“What did she say?”
Alan looked at me.
“She said, ‘Sentinel isn't a person.’”
Torres stepped closer.
“What did she mean?”
“I don't know.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“Yes.”
Alan swallowed.
“She said, ‘It's the room where Nathan keeps everyone alive.’”
Nobody understood.
Until Rachel did.
Torres brought Rachel into the room an hour later.
When she heard Caroline's words, every trace of color vanished from her face.
“Oh, God.”
“What?” I asked.
“Sentinel isn't a code name.”
“Then what?”
“A server.”
Daniel had once told me that Cole Strategic Systems operated secure private data centers.
Rachel explained that Nathan stored leverage on everyone around him.
Videos.
Bank records.
Affairs.
Illegal payments.
Threats.
Secrets.
His insurance policy.
He called the archive Sentinel.
“Where is it?”
Rachel hesitated.
“Nathan moved it years ago.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Olivia spoke from the bed.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
She had asked a nurse to wheel her into the room.
“Liv—”
“I know where Sentinel is.”
“How?”
“Because Nathan showed me.”
Silence.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Why would he show you his blackmail archive?”
“He didn't know I understood what I was seeing.”
“Where?”
She took a breath.
“Under Harbor Foundation headquarters.”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“It used to be elsewhere.”
“He moved it.”
Torres immediately started issuing orders.
Then Olivia said, “There's one problem.”
“What?”
“Sentinel has a purge protocol.”
Rachel nodded slowly.
“If Nathan believes law enforcement is coming, he can erase everything remotely.”
“How long?”
“Minutes.”
Olivia looked toward the television.
Nathan's face still appeared in news coverage.
“He knows we're closing in.”
Torres's phone rang.
She answered.
Then her expression changed.
“What?”
She turned on the television.
Breaking news.
A vehicle had been discovered burning on a rural Virginia road.
Inside was one body.
Male.
Badly burned.
A wallet was recovered nearby.
It belonged to Daniel Mercer.
Olivia made a sound I had never heard from another human being.
“No.”
I grabbed her before she fell from the wheelchair.
The reporter continued.
Authorities had not officially confirmed the victim's identity.
I held my daughter while she shook.
And somewhere beneath the grief and rage, one thought remained.
Nathan liked staged deaths.
Rachel was proof.
May you like
Which meant until I saw Daniel's face myself—
I refused to bury him.
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