Chapter 5 - The Man Who Taught Me Medicine
I was halfway to the executive elevators before Ortiz caught my arm.
“Stop.”
“I’m talking to him.”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m aware.”
“That makes you useful to whoever wants you stupid.”
I looked at her hand on my sleeve.
She let go.
“Five minutes,” she said. “Then I come looking.”
Reed’s office door was open when I reached the fourth floor.
He stood at the window with a coffee cup in one hand.
Same silver hair. Same blue tie. Same posture I had seen at mortality conferences for a decade.
“Close the door,” he said.
I left it open.
He looked at me, then smiled without humor.
“Fine.”
“You canceled surveillance requests after Rachel died.”
His cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
“Hospital legal did.”
“Your office authorized it.”
“My office authorizes hundreds of things.”
“Did you know Rachel was investigating child transfers?”
“No.”
Too fast.
I let the silence sit.
Reed set his coffee down.
“Adrian, your wife was grieving cases she couldn’t control. You know that.”
My hands went cold.
He had used the exact tone he used when residents panicked.
Slow. Kind. Superior.
“You told me she was exhausted,” I said.
“She was.”
“You told me to stop letting her bring work home.”
“I remember.”
“You told me her obsession would damage our marriage.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Where is this going?”
I pulled out my phone and opened the forged discharge order.
“Someone used my signature tonight.”
He barely glanced at it.
“That’s an IT issue.”
“From an executive terminal.”
That landed.
He turned back to the window.
“Then IT will investigate.”
I stepped closer.
“Who is Northbridge?”
His shoulders shifted.
Not much.
Enough.
“Never heard of it.”
I smiled once.
Badly.
“You’re lying.”
Reed faced me.
“Be very careful.”
“Why?”
“Because once your judgment gets questioned, every decision you make tonight becomes evidence.”
He moved around the desk.
“You’re emotionally compromised. You lost your wife. A frightened child says something that touches the old wound, and suddenly you’re seeing conspiracy.”
He leaned forward.
“You need to think about your license before you make emotional decisions.”
My body went still.
Rachel had texted Mara that exact sentence two days before she died.
Mara’s card contained the screenshot.
Reed saw my face change.
He stopped talking.
My phone rang.
Ortiz.
I answered without breaking eye contact.
“Yeah.”
“We found Dean Voss’s car.”
“Where?”
“Three blocks west. Driver door open. Blood on the wheel.”
Reed looked away.
I watched him do it.
“Dean?”
“Gone.”
Ortiz’s voice lowered.
“There’s something in the back seat.”
Paper rustled.
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“Of who?”
“You.”
I stared at Reed.
Ortiz continued.
“Not a printout. Surveillance photo. You leaving your house this morning.”
Reed reached for his coffee again.
His hand shook once.
I said, “Malcolm.”
He froze.
Then the fire door behind me clicked shut by itself.
The magnetic lock engaged.
Reed looked toward the ceiling camera.
For the first time, he looked scared.
Not of me.
May you like
Of whoever had just locked us in together.
