Chapter 2 - What Chloe Heard
Chloe’s surgery lasted four hours and seventeen minutes.
I counted every one.
Dr. Donnelly came out shortly after dawn.
“Repair went well.”
My knees nearly weakened.
He continued before I could ask:
“She will have significant swelling. Nutrition will be difficult for a while. Speech will be limited initially. We expect more dental work later.”
“Neurological?”
“No intracranial injury identified.”
“Vision?”
“Swelling, but ophthalmology is optimistic.”
“Permanent facial damage?”
“Too early to promise, but nothing I see makes me think she cannot recover well.”
I thanked him.
Then:
“Doctor.”
“Yes?”
“Was she restrained?”
He hesitated.
“There are bruises around both wrists.”
My jaw tightened.
“Consistent with?”
“Being gripped strongly is possible. I’m not going beyond that.”
Good.
Facts.
I had enough rage.
I did not need a doctor feeding it speculation.
Detective Mercer returned at 8:20.
This time he brought Detective Elena Park.
She was younger, maybe late thirties, hair pulled back, expression unreadable.
Park did most of the talking.
“We’ve identified an off campus party Chloe attended.”
“She wasn’t supposed to be at a party.”
Park looked at me.
“She’s nineteen.”
Fair.
I almost smiled.
“What party?”
“Graduate housing annex. Invitation only.”
“Hosted by?”
“Student policy society.”
That did not fit Chad.
He studied business.
Brantley political science.
Wyatt engineering.
Chloe studied archival research and digital history.
“Why was Chloe there?”
Park looked at her notes.
“She volunteered with Professor Miriam Shaw on a university archive digitization project.”
I knew that.
Professor Shaw had become one of Chloe’s favorite instructors.
“She was invited because the project recently received donor funding.”
“From who?”
Park paused.
“Holbrook Foundation.”
There.
“Wyatt’s family.”
“Yes.”
Mercer interrupted.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
Park continued.
“Chloe apparently had an argument with Wyatt.”
“About?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Where is Professor Shaw?”
“Not answering.”
My stomach tightened.
“Missing?”
“No basis to say that. She left campus yesterday afternoon according to access logs.”
“Phone?”
“Off.”
Again, Mercer:
“People turn phones off.”
I looked at him.
He looked away.
Park asked:
“Did Chloe mention anything unusual about the archive work?”
“No.”
“Any documents?”
“No.”
“Did she bring home external drives?”
“Probably. She carries half her life in that backpack.”
The backpack.
I remembered Chad kicking it under the SUV in the prompt scene that would later happen? Wait current story starts hospital after attack, video prompt suggests at hospital entrance they confront. We can incorporate later. Fine.
Park said:
“The paper with names. Did Chloe write it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Handwriting?”
“Looks like hers.”
She photographed.
Then:
“We’d like to speak with her when medically appropriate.”
“Through hospital and victim advocate.”
“Yes.”
Mercer looked annoyed at that condition.
Park did not.
After they left, Julian called.
“I found the file access.”
“Tell me.”
“Holbrook Dynamics has a classified records compliance division.”
“I know.”
“They requested archival material tied to several historical procurement programs four days ago.”
“Why?”
“Officially, audit reconciliation.”
“And unofficially?”
“Among requested materials was an old Vanguard personnel cross reference.”
“That shouldn’t exist outside DoD.”
“It doesn’t. They received a redacted index.”
“How did they get photograph?”
“That’s what I’m trying to answer.”
“Anyone else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Someone searched Chloe.”
My skin went cold.
“Where?”
“A contractor database connected to Holbrook’s university fellowship program. Her name was queried three times last week.”
“By who?”
“User credential assigned to Wyatt Holbrook.”
I closed my eyes.
“Could be him?”
“Could be credential compromise.”
“Good.”
Julian laughed softly.
“You still do that.”
“What?”
“Refuse the easy conclusion.”
“It kept people alive.”
Then he said:
“Alexander, I need to call Marcus Hale.”
I had not heard that name in nineteen years.
Marcus had been our communications and signals specialist.
Now, according to Julian, he ran digital forensics for a federal inspector general contractor.
“Lawfully?”
“Yes.”
“No favors that cross lines.”
“Understood.”
“And Leo?”
“Not yet.”
Leo Mercer had been our financial intelligence officer.
No relation to Detective Mercer.
“Why not?”
“Because if this is Holbrook, money comes later.”
“Julian.”
“What?”
“We are not Vanguard.”
Silence.
Then:
“No.”
“We are civilians.”
“Yes.”
“We use attorneys, inspectors general, law enforcement, public records.”
“You’ve become boring.”
“I became a father.”
Julian’s voice softened.
“I know.”
After call, Chloe woke.
She looked at me.
I smiled.
“Hey.”
Tears formed immediately.
She touched her jaw carefully.
I took out tablet.
“Do you want to write?”
She nodded.
Slowly:
DID YOU CALL THEM?
I froze.
“Who?”
She typed:
YOUR OLD TEAM.
My heart stopped.
“How do you know about Vanguard?”
She closed eyes.
Then typed:
THEY SHOWED ME YOUR PHOTO.
“Who?”
WYATT.
“What did he say?”
She looked afraid.
I almost stopped.
Then she typed:
HE SAID THEY NEEDED YOU TO WAKE UP.
Another line.
HE KEPT ASKING WHERE THE BLACK COIN WAS.
I touched my wallet.
The coin had never left it.
“How would he know about that?”
Chloe shook her head.
Then wrote:
I THINK THEY THOUGHT I HAD IT.
“Why?”
She hesitated.
Then typed something I did not expect.
PROFESSOR SHAW GAVE ME A BOX LAST WEEK. SHE SAID IF ANYONE ASKED, I NEVER SAW IT.
“What box?”
Chloe looked toward her backpack.
My stomach dropped.
May you like
The backpack was now in police evidence.
Inside it might be the reason three powerful families had started moving before my daughter even reached a hospital.
