Chapter 3 - The Old CompoundEthan drove directly to Mercer headquarters after taking Lily to school.
He changed his mind halfway there.
He couldn't leave her.
Not today.
He turned around, picked her up less than twenty minutes after dropping her off, and told the receptionist there had been a family emergency.
Lily climbed into the car carrying her backpack.
“This is the shortest school day ever.”
“Don't get used to it.”
“Can I get ice cream?”
“No.”
“Then it's not worth it.”
Despite himself, Ethan laughed.
He took her to Evelyn's apartment in the guest wing of the mansion and told his mother Lily would stay with her.
Evelyn Mercer stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because I'm asking you.”
“That has never been a persuasive argument.”
“Mom.”
Something in his voice stopped her.
Evelyn looked at Lily.
Then back at him.
“All right.”
“No food or drinks Claire brings in.”
Evelyn's expression hardened.
“What?”
“Nothing Claire brings in.”
“Ethan—”
“Please.”
His mother slowly nodded.
Ethan drove to Mercer Therapeutics headquarters.
The company occupied a glass-and-stone campus forty minutes from the mansion.
His father, Richard Mercer, had built most of it.
Ethan had spent his childhood watching buildings appear around him and adults tell him they would someday be his responsibility.
He'd never understood how much responsibility could resemble guilt.
At his office, his chief financial officer, Martin Sloane, intercepted him.
Martin was sixty, silver-haired and immaculate.
He had worked for Richard Mercer before Ethan graduated from college.
“You canceled the morning review.”
“Family problem.”
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
Martin studied him.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it affectionately.”
“I'll recover.”
Martin held up a folder.
“We need your approval on the Latham acquisition.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Board wants it today.”
“They can survive disappointment.”
Martin sighed.
“You know your father used to say—”
“My father said a lot of things.”
The sharpness surprised both men.
Martin raised his hands.
“All right.”
Ethan watched him leave.
Then he accessed the research archive.
He searched the term Dr. Patel had texted him.
Nothing.
He searched by chemical classification.
Nothing.
He searched occupational exposure.
Hundreds of results.
After two hours, he called information systems.
“I need access to pre-digital research files.”
“That archive is restricted.”
“I'm CEO.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So unrestrict it.”
Twenty minutes later, Ethan found a reference.
HALCYON PROGRAM.
1998–2001.
Internal environmental study.
Status: terminated.
Primary investigator: Dr. Samuel Whitmore.
Ethan stared at the surname.
Whitmore.
Claire Whitmore.
His fiancée had never hidden her last name.
Why had it never meant anything to him?
He searched Samuel.
Most records were gone.
One remained.
An internal legal memorandum.
CONFIDENTIAL — CLOSED MATTER.
Before Ethan could open it, someone knocked.
Noah entered.
Ethan immediately minimized the window.
“You hiding porn?”
“Get out.”
“Definitely porn.”
Noah dropped into a chair.
At thirty-five, Ethan's younger brother had inherited their father's smile without the discipline that usually concealed what he was thinking.
“You disappeared this morning.”
“Busy.”
“Claire called me.”
Ethan looked up.
“Why?”
“She asked if Lily was with Mom.”
“What did you say?”
“Yes.”
Noah frowned.
“Was I supposed to lie?”
“No.”
“What is going on?”
Ethan watched his brother carefully.
Noah had approved several family expenses connected to Claire's wellness program.
That didn't make him guilty.
It made him relevant.
“Nothing.”
“That's convincing.”
“I have work.”
Noah remained seated.
“You know, tomorrow you're marrying a woman who notices things.”
“So?”
“So if you're having some kind of pre-wedding breakdown, maybe tell her before she walks into a church.”
“It's not a church.”
“You're avoiding the point.”
Ethan leaned back.
“Why do you care?”
Noah looked offended.
“Because you're my brother.”
It sounded sincere.
Ethan hated that sincerity no longer meant anything.
His computer chimed.
The archive file had loaded.
Noah glanced toward the screen.
Ethan closed the laptop.
“Go.”
Noah stood.
At the door he stopped.
“By the way, Mom almost passed out again.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Ethan's blood chilled.
“You didn't tell me?”
“She told me not to.”
“What happened?”
“She got dizzy. Claire gave her something, and she felt better.”
Ethan stared at him.
“What?”
Noah shrugged.
“Those drops from the wellness clinic.”
Ethan stood so quickly his chair rolled backward.
Noah's smile disappeared.
“What?”
“Where is Mom now?”
“At home.”
Ethan was already calling Evelyn.
She answered.
“I am perfectly fine.”
“Do not take anything Claire gives you.”
“Ethan—”
“Promise me.”
A pause.
“Fine.”
“Where is Lily?”
“In the sunroom.”
“Keep her with you.”
He ended the call.
Noah stared.
“Are you going to explain?”
“Not yet.”
Ethan opened the archived memorandum.
The first paragraph was mostly legal language.
The second mentioned three workers hospitalized after an unauthorized exposure.
The third made his breathing stop.
Dr. Samuel Whitmore had reported that Mercer Therapeutics management altered internal safety data after the incident.
The matter had been settled privately.
Whitmore had subsequently been dismissed for “research misconduct.”
At the bottom of the page was an electronic note.
SUPPORTING DOCUMENTATION SEALED BY ORDER OF R. MERCER.
His father.
Ethan clicked the attachments.
One file opened.
It contained a photograph of Samuel Whitmore.
Standing beside him at a laboratory bench was a much younger Martin Sloane.
And in Samuel's arms was a little girl.
Five or six years old.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
May you like
Ethan had seen those eyes every morning for eighteen months.
Claire.
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