Chapter 6
They found my father three hours later.
He had not fled Boston.
He was sitting in a church twelve blocks from the hospital.
My father did not attend church.
Not Christmas.
Not Easter.
Not funerals unless the family requested it.
Police found him alone in the last pew with a battered cardboard box beside him.
Jonathan Mercer’s research.
When they brought him back, my mother stood in the corridor.
She did not hug him.
She slapped him.
Hard.
The sound echoed through the hall.
I watched from my doorway.
Daniel stood beside me.
My father did not defend himself.
My mother hit his chest once.
Then again.
“You let me believe you left.”
“I needed the box.”
“You could have told us.”
“No.”
“Why?”
My father looked through the doorway at me.
“Because I knew who would follow me.”
My skin went cold.
Police brought in another man ten minutes later.
I recognized him immediately.
Charles Avery.
Executive director of the Whitmore Foundation.
My father’s closest friend for twenty-seven years.
The man who had toasted me at my graduation.
Who sent flowers every birthday.
Who called himself Uncle Charlie when I was little.
His coat was wet from rain.
His hands were cuffed.
I stared.
“No.”
Avery saw me.
Something almost tender appeared on his face.
“Emily.”
My father stepped between us.
“Don’t say her name.”
Avery smiled.
“You finally grew a spine, Richard.”
My father’s entire body tightened.
One of the detectives led Avery into an interview room.
My mother sat down.
I looked at my father.
“What did he do?”
He entered my room.
For once, he asked permission.
“Can I sit?”
I nodded.
Daniel remained.
My father did not object.
“When Jonathan died,” Dad began, “Charles was twenty-six.”
“He worked for Grandfather?”
“He was my father’s assistant.”
My stomach sank.
“He knew about the contaminated supplies?”
“He helped destroy records.”
I stared at him.
“And you knew this?”
“Not then.”
“When?”
“After you got sick at six.”
My mother closed her eyes.
My father continued.
“Hadley wasn’t working alone.”
“Avery.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“Because we couldn’t prove it.”
“You had thirty years.”
“He was careful.”
“So you let him stay around us?”
Anger broke through my weakness.
“You let him hold me at Christmas.
You let him sit at our table.”
“I needed him close.”
I stared.
“You used me as bait?”
“No.”
My father stood.
“Never.”
His voice broke through the room.
“I spent thirty years trying to know where he was every hour of every day.”
Daniel watched him carefully.
My father turned toward me.
“When you were six, I discovered enough to understand that Charles had been involved in hiding the medical scandal.
But the evidence connecting him to Jonathan’s death was gone.”
“So you kept him near you.”
“Yes.”
“That is insane.”
“Yes.”
“You should have gone to the police.”
“I had nothing they could use.”
“You had me.”
His face twisted.
“That was precisely why I didn’t gamble.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You gambled every day he was in our lives.”
“I know.”
For the first time, my father looked small.
Not physically.
Richard Whitmore was still six feet tall, still broad-shouldered, still dressed like a man expecting to be photographed.
But the certainty was gone.
“I believed if Avery thought I suspected nothing, he would leave you alone.”
“He poisoned me twice.”
“Yes.”
My father whispered it.
Just one word.
It sounded like a confession.
“Why now?”
Daniel answered.
“Because Emily was being offered a permanent position at the foundation.”
I looked at him.
Then remembered dinner.
The questions.
The board.
My father’s announcement that I would begin reviewing program strategy in January.
Avery had been sitting six seats away.
My father nodded.
“You asked for unrestricted access to old financial records.”
I had.
I had told my father I would not take a foundation role unless I could conduct an independent review.
“You knew I might find Jonathan’s research.”
“Yes.”
“And you still offered me the job?”
“I had planned to remove Avery first.”
“But you didn’t.”
“He moved before I did.”
My hands shook.
Daniel reached toward me.
Stopped.
I nodded.
He took my hand.
Warm.
Steady.
My father noticed.
Said nothing.
“How did Avery infect me?”
“Your champagne glass,” Daniel said.
I frowned.
“I barely drank it.”
“That may be why you survived the night without deteriorating sooner.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Daniel continued.
“The bacteria and suppressive compound were likely introduced into the drink immediately before dinner.”
I remembered something.
Avery leaning behind my chair.
Changing glasses because mine had a lipstick mark from someone else's place setting.
He had laughed.
Can’t have Richard Whitmore’s daughter drinking from the wrong glass.
I began shaking.
Daniel squeezed my hand.
“He did it in front of us.”
May you like
My father nodded.
“He always did everything in front of us.”
