Chapter 8 - THE SECOND ATTEMPT
Ortiz threw herself over Noah before I even heard the gunshot.
Glass sprayed across the living room.
“Down!”
I dragged Tessa behind the stone fireplace as another round hit the wall.
Noah screamed against my chest.
Police returned fire toward the tree line.
Thirty seconds later, tires shrieked on the street.
Then silence.
Ortiz stood, furious.
“Everybody moves. Now.”
We were taken through the garage into an unmarked SUV.
As we pulled away, I looked back at my house.
One upstairs window glowed softly.
The nursery.
The place where Amelia had once sung Noah to sleep while I stood in the doorway pretending I wasn’t emotional.
Now it looked like a target.
At a secure apartment downtown, Ortiz connected the black chip to an isolated laptop.
Audio crackled.
A man’s voice: Malcolm Vale.
“You were paid to change the reaction reports.”
Another man answered, “Four babies died.”
“Four liabilities died.”
Tessa closed her eyes.
The recording continued.
Then a third voice appeared.
I knew it.
My father.
Charles Mercer had died three years earlier.
On the recording, he said, “If Elliot ever finds out we used his foundation, he’ll burn this company to the ground.”
I felt physically sick.
My father had known.
Worse, he had helped.
Tessa reached for my arm.
I pulled away—not from her, from everyone.
“My family paid for this?”
Ortiz said quietly, “Your father did. That doesn’t mean you did.”
My phone buzzed.
A text from Vivienne.
I CAN GET YOU THE ORIGINAL PATIENT FILES.
Then another.
BUT YOU HAVE TO COME WITHOUT POLICE.
Ortiz read over my shoulder.
“No.”
A third message arrived.
A photograph.
Grant Vale stood behind an elderly woman tied to a chair.
Tessa made a sound like the air had been punched out of her.
“Elisa?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“My mother.”
May you like
The final text appeared.
MIDNIGHT. OLD MERCER BOATHOUSE. BRING TESSA.
