Chapter 5 - The Price of the TruthVictor Kaine disliked federal agents.
Clara discovered there were degrees to that dislike.
Ordinary police received cold contempt.
Prosecutors received amusement.
Federal agents received the expression Victor normally reserved for people he was calculating how to bury.
Special Agent Naomi Reed appeared unaffected.
They stood in the middle of a blocked avenue while two dozen armed federal officers surrounded the convoy.
Evan remained inside the SUV.
Clara crossed her arms.
“You’ve been investigating St. Jude’s for seven months?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t protect Margaret Rowe?”
A flicker of pain crossed Reed’s face.
“We didn’t know she was in danger.”
“Her son was your witness.”
“He contacted us six months ago. He believed hospital administrators had falsified records surrounding several malpractice cases.”
“Several?”
Reed looked at Victor.
“This conversation would be easier without him.”
“No,” Clara said.
Victor’s eyebrow lifted slightly.
Reed noticed.
“Dr. Hayes, Victor Kaine is the head of a criminal organization currently under multiple federal investigations.”
“And right now he’s the reason Evan is alive.”
Reed considered that.
“Fine.”
She lowered her voice.
“Your case wasn’t isolated.”
Clara felt cold.
“How many?”
“At least nine physicians were disciplined, terminated, or pressured into settlements after adverse events connected to hospital equipment or supply failures.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
Victor spoke.
“Usually is.”
Reed ignored him.
“St. Jude’s had accumulated nearly four hundred million dollars in undisclosed liabilities. Equipment failures, contaminated supplies, falsified procurement records. Someone was hiding systemic problems before a major acquisition.”
“Who was buying them?”
Reed hesitated.
Victor noticed.
“Now we arrive at the interesting part.”
Reed looked directly at him.
“Kaine Health Holdings.”
Silence.
Clara turned toward Victor.
He did not react.
“What?”
Victor’s voice was quiet.
“I don’t own a healthcare company.”
Reed studied him.
“Your father did.”
Clara looked between them.
Victor’s father had died twelve years earlier.
Victor rarely spoke about him.
Reed continued.
“Kaine Health Holdings was dissolved after Michael Kaine’s death, but several subsidiaries survived. One of them is currently the majority investor behind the consortium acquiring St. Jude’s.”
Victor’s expression became dangerous.
“Name.”
“Argent Medical Capital.”
Victor looked at Elias.
Elias had stepped from the second SUV.
For once, his composed face showed surprise.
“I know the name,” Elias said. “We sold our position in Argent eleven years ago.”
“Apparently not all of it,” Reed replied.
Victor took out his phone.
Reed held up a hand.
“Before you start calling accountants, understand something. We believe someone has been using dormant Kaine corporate structures for years.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
Nobody stole from Victor Kaine.
Nobody used his family name without permission.
Clara almost felt sorry for whoever had done it.
Almost.
Reed looked at Evan.
“We need him in federal protection.”
“No,” Evan called from inside the vehicle.
Reed approached.
“Evan.”
“No safe house.”
“Your mother was murdered.”
“Because someone found your safe address.”
Reed stopped.
Evan’s speech became strained with anger.
“You said nobody knew.”
“We’re investigating the breach.”
“Great.”
He pointed toward Victor.
“I stay with scary mafia.”
Dominic coughed to hide a laugh.
Reed rubbed her forehead.
“This is not negotiable.”
Victor finally smiled.
It was not friendly.
“You blocked my convoy without a warrant, Agent Reed. Unless you intend to arrest someone, I suggest you move your vehicles.”
Reed stared at him.
“You think I’ll allow a federal witness to disappear inside your compound?”
“He appears to prefer it.”
“His preference is irrelevant.”
Evan opened the SUV door.
“My preference very relevant.”
Clara moved beside him.
“He’s an adult.”
Reed looked at Clara with frustration.
“Do you understand what you’re stepping into?”
Clara almost laughed.
Six months earlier, she had set three gunmen on fire with ether in Victor’s basement.
“Yes.”
She looked at the federal barricade.
“I’m beginning to.”
Twenty minutes later, the road reopened.
Reed followed them to the estate.
Victor allowed two federal agents through the gates.
No more.
The flash drive was examined in Clara’s clinic.
Evan had copied thousands of pages.
Internal emails.
Incident reports.
Financial statements.
Procurement documents.
Clara sat beside him while Reed’s forensic technician created encrypted duplicates.
At 7:30 p.m., Mercer was wheeled into the conference room.
He looked at Evan.
Evan stared back.
Neither spoke.
Finally Mercer said, “I’m sorry about your mother.”
Evan’s expression hardened.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You let her hate wrong person.”
Mercer closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Evan looked at Clara.
“Can I hit him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He has abdominal sutures.”
Evan considered this.
“Later?”
Despite herself, Clara smiled.
“We’ll revisit it.”
Victor stood at the end of the table reading printed financial records.
Elias entered.
He placed a folder beside him.
“I found it.”
Victor opened it.
His face changed.
Clara noticed.
“What?”
Victor handed her a photograph.
A man in his late fifties.
Silver hair.
Elegant suit.
Clara recognized him.
Arthur Prescott.
St. Jude’s chief financial officer.
One of the board members who had helped destroy her.
Victor spoke.
“Prescott was my father’s accountant.”
Clara looked up.
“For how long?”
“Eight years.”
“Until?”
“Three months before my father died.”
The room became silent.
“How did your father die?” Evan asked.
Victor did not answer immediately.
“Heart attack.”
Clara studied his face.
“You don’t believe that anymore.”
Victor looked at Prescott’s photograph.
“I haven’t thought about believing it in twelve years.”
Reed leaned forward.
“What happened three months before his death?”
“Prescott disappeared with eight million dollars.”
Dominic whistled.
“My father wanted him found. Then my father died, the organization nearly collapsed, and I spent the next two years surviving a succession war.”
“So Prescott escaped.”
“Yes.”
Reed opened another file.
“He didn’t disappear.”
She turned the document.
Arthur Prescott had legally changed his name for eighteen months.
Then returned to his original identity.
Three years later, he joined St. Jude’s.
Victor’s voice became almost inaudible.
“He hid in plain sight.”
Clara understood what was happening.
This was no longer merely about her license.
No longer merely about Evan.
The roots stretched backward twelve years.
Perhaps longer.
Elias looked toward Victor.
“I’ll bring him in.”
“No.”
Everyone looked at Clara.
She stood.
“We do this legally.”
Dominic actually laughed.
Clara glared at him.
“I’m serious.”
Victor folded his arms.
“Prescott murdered Evan’s mother.”
“We don’t know that.”
“He burned the archive.”
“We don’t know that either.”
“He stole from my father.”
“That one seems fairly clear.”
Evan raised his hand.
Everyone looked at him.
“Maybe ask him.”
Clara pointed.
“Exactly.”
Victor looked at Evan.
“You are becoming a bad influence.”
Evan shrugged.
That evening, Agent Reed obtained a federal warrant.
At 11:08 p.m., agents entered Arthur Prescott’s penthouse.
It was empty.
The safe was open.
Clothes were gone.
A private jet registered to a shell company had departed forty minutes earlier.
Destination unknown.
Victor stood beside Clara in the estate’s security room when Reed called.
“He ran,” Clara said.
Victor nodded.
“Which means someone warned him.”
Reed heard through speakerphone.
“We’re checking everyone with access to the warrant.”
Victor looked at Clara.
“Your legal approach lasted three hours.”
“Shut up.”
His mouth twitched.
Clara hated that she wanted to smile.
Then an alarm sounded.
Not the estate alarm.
A medical alarm.
Clara ran.
Mercer’s room.
His cardiac monitor screamed.
She entered to find him convulsing.
Foam covered his lips.
His heart rate was collapsing.
“Elias!”
Clara grabbed the crash cart.
Mercer’s pupils were pinpoint.
Not cardiac arrest.
Poison.
She checked his IV line.
A tiny puncture marked the medication port.
“Someone injected him.”
Victor entered.
Clara pushed naloxone.
No response.
She smelled Mercer’s breath.
Bitter almonds.
Her blood turned cold.
“Cyanide.”
Victor looked toward the doorway.
The guard stationed outside was unconscious.
Clara started compressions.
“Get the antidote kit!”
A nurse ran.
Mercer’s body jerked beneath Clara’s hands.
“Come on.”
His rhythm deteriorated.
Ventricular fibrillation.
“Charge 200.”
The defibrillator whined.
“Clear.”
Mercer’s body jumped.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Clara continued.
Eight minutes.
Ten.
Twelve.
Finally she stopped.
The monitor produced a continuous tone.
Daniel Mercer was dead.
Clara remained with both hands against his chest.
Victor stood behind her.
Nobody spoke.
Then Clara noticed something.
Mercer’s right fist was closed.
She opened it.
Inside lay a torn piece of black fabric.
And beneath his fingernails was blood.
He had fought his killer.
Victor looked at the doorway.
“This house has four hundred cameras.”
Elias’s voice came through the intercom.
“Victor.”
“What?”
“We lost the cameras on the medical floor for exactly six minutes.”
Victor’s expression changed.
Clara slowly stood.
Someone had entered the most secure house in the city.
Someone had poisoned a protected witness.
Someone had known exactly how to disable Victor’s surveillance.
That meant the enemy was not outside.
Victor looked at every guard gathered beyond the glass.
Then at Elias.
Then Dominic.
Then Clara.
“Lock the gates.”
His voice carried through the clinic.
“Nobody leaves.”
Dominic reached for his weapon.
May you like
Victor’s dark gaze moved across the faces of his own people.
“We have a traitor.”
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