Chapter 5 - The Twenty Five Thousand Dollar Bonus
Greg’s finances were worse than Jennifer knew.
Not because he earned nothing.
Because debt ate everything.
Credit cards.
Truck loan.
Sports betting account.
Two personal loans.
A failed equipment resale business.
Nearly fifty thousand dollars in unsecured debt.
The 31,500 dollar research compensation looked enormous to him.
Jennifer stared at the statements.
“He told me the night shift was finally helping us catch up.”
It was not.
Northshore money had been keeping Greg afloat.
His final 25,000 dollar payment was scheduled two days after Day 90.
He had promised one creditor twelve thousand.
Another eight.
He planned to pay the truck arrears.
The rest would disappear immediately.
Financial desperation did not explain why he enrolled a child without proper consent.
It explained why he stayed after the program became dangerous.
Greg’s attorney released a statement.
Greg believed the study was properly approved.
He believed Jennifer had consented.
He believed the device infection was minor.
He never intended harm.
Each sentence would be tested.
Not accepted.
Jennifer requested temporary protection orders.
Greg could not contact Leo directly while the investigation proceeded.
That decision came from a court, not the hospital.
Leo remained admitted two nights.
His swelling improved.
The bruised wrist became another question.
He said Greg grabbed him when he refused scanning.
The bruised fingers came from pulling against the garage door.
“Was it locked?” the social worker asked.
Leo nodded.
“From outside?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Until the reader turned green.”
That had nothing to do with medical protocol.
Greg was using confinement as compliance.
Thomas felt anger each time he heard another detail.
He kept it out of the room.
Leo needed adults who could stay predictable.
Sarah became good at that.
She brought him crackers.
Never asked him to “be brave.”
Never told him everything would be fine.
She asked:
“Apple or grape juice?”
“Blue blanket or gray?”
Small choices.
His shoulders lowered.
Then Northshore sent a compliance team to Bayhaven.
Not to interview Leo.
To speak with investigators.
Company general counsel, Monica Vale, admitted that Northshore had contracted with NerveLine on a limited pilot.
Adult family members only.
No subjects under eighteen.
Then Detective Bell showed her the internal code:
N09.
Pediatric longitudinal graph.
Monica’s face changed.
“That is not an approved study designation.”
“Whose is it?”
“I do not know.”
“Who is Kara Pike?”
“Research operations.”
“Did she have authority to enroll children?”
“No.”
“Did Northshore know she was doing it?”
“I cannot answer until we complete review.”
Then the company suspended Kara.
Her laptop was preserved.
She retained counsel.
Kara’s first interview changed the scope.
“I did not invent the pediatric arm.”
“Who did?”
“Dr. Simon Hale.”
NerveLine’s chief scientific officer.
Publicly, Hale’s research focused on adult stress monitoring.
Internally, according to Kara, he wanted pediatric data before NerveLine’s acquisition.
What acquisition?
Northshore was negotiating to buy NerveLine for 180 million dollars.
A pediatric stress dataset could increase the device’s value in future behavioral health markets.
But formal pediatric trials would take years.
So Hale created what he called:
Extended family feasibility.
Children of selected employees.
Devices placed under “minor dermatologic procedures.”
No Institutional Review Board approval that Kara could produce.
No transparent pediatric protocol.
Parents received wellness forms.
Guardians like Greg received contractor agreements separately.
The system split information deliberately.
One document made the program look harmless.
Another paid adults for compliance.
Kara said:
“I thought every legal guardian had signed.”
Jennifer leaned forward during the recorded interview review.
“I did not.”
Kara looked shaken when told.
Then Bell asked:
“Why hide implants from outside hospitals?”
“Because NerveLine considered the capsule proprietary.”
“More important than medical care?”
“No.”
“Your message says use designated clinic.”
“Designated clinics knew how to remove the device without damaging it.”
“Why would damage matter?”
Kara hesitated.
“Because each capsule stores local calibration history.”
Data.
The capsule was not merely a sensor.
It contained records.
If removed intact, investigators might recover ninety days of readings.
May you like
Including what Greg did to Leo.
Continue to the next part: The device beneath Leo’s cheek may contain a complete timeline of the nights Greg confined, frightened, and scanned him.
