Chapter 10 - Congressman Hale’s Secret
By noon, Boston knew Cross Holdings was under federal investigation.
By one o’clock, two television networks were running Damian’s photograph beside phrases like ORGANIZED CRIME CONNECTION and MEDICAL SMUGGLING.
By two, three banks had frozen lines of credit connected to his construction companies.
And at 2:17, Congressman Charles Hale requested a private meeting.
Damian laughed when Marcus told him.
“Of course he did.”
We met Hale inside a closed conference room at the Harbor Crown.
The same hotel where the entire nightmare had begun.
Hale entered through a service elevator with one aide.
No press.
No security beyond Damian’s.
He looked worse than he had at the gala.
Pale.
Sweating.
His expensive suit appeared slept in.
He saw me and stopped.
“You.”
I remembered the woman near the orchestra.
The repeated glances.
The tension.
“Me.”
Damian remained seated.
“Sit down, Congressman.”
Hale did.
“I need protection.”
Damian leaned back.
“From?”
“You know from whom.”
“Pretend I don’t.”
Hale’s eyes moved toward me.
“She shouldn’t be here.”
I almost laughed.
Apparently that sentence had become the anthem of my week.
Damian’s response came immediately.
“She stays.”
Hale swallowed.
“Northstar.”
Nobody moved.
“What do you know?” Damian asked.
Hale wiped his forehead.
“Enough to know I should have come to you months ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought you controlled it.”
Damian’s expression hardened.
“You thought I was blackmailing you.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Hale looked toward the window.
“My son.”
That was not the answer I expected.
“What about him?” I asked.
“He had an addiction.”
Hale’s voice broke slightly.
“Prescription pills. Then heroin.”
Damian remained silent.
Hale continued.
“Three years ago, he overdosed at a private apartment. A young woman was with him. She panicked and called an ambulance.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Someone intercepted the call.”
My stomach tightened.
“Northstar?”
“I didn’t know the name then.”
Hale rubbed his hands together.
“A private medical team arrived instead. They saved him.”
“That sounds good,” I said.
“At first.”
Then I understood.
“They had records.”
“Photos. Blood tests. Toxicology. Everything.”
“And threatened to release it?”
“During my reelection campaign.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“What did they want?”
“Votes.”
“Which votes?”
“Waterfront redevelopment. Port oversight. Healthcare privacy provisions.”
Victor, who joined by secure video, spoke from the screen.
“Northstar was shaping legislation.”
Hale nodded.
“And contracts.”
Damian leaned forward.
“Who contacted you?”
“Never the same person twice.”
“Names.”
“I don’t know.”
“Voices?”
“Modified.”
“Payments?”
“They didn’t ask for money.”
“What did they ask for most recently?”
Hale looked at me.
“A federal grant.”
“For?”
“Crosswell Clinic expansion.”
Everyone went silent.
I felt sick.
“They wanted government money going into the clinic?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Damian stood.
“When?”
“The vote is next week.”
“Who proposed it?”
Hale hesitated.
“Dr. Samuel Keane.”
Damian’s expression changed.
“Keane testified?”
“Through a healthcare foundation.”
“Name?”
Hale said it.
“Northstar Community Health Initiative.”
Victor cursed through the screen.
The organization had been operating publicly.
Hiding behind philanthropy.
Damian paced once.
“What else?”
Hale looked toward me again.
“The woman at the gala.”
“I noticed her.”
His face fell.
“She works for Northstar.”
“Name?”
“Rachel Wynn.”
“Why was she there?”
“To make sure I didn’t warn you.”
“Why didn’t she look at you?”
“Because we were instructed never to acknowledge each other.”
That explained the behavior I had noticed.
“Where is she now?” Marcus asked.
“I don’t know.”
Damian turned toward him.
“Find her.”
Marcus left.
Hale remained.
“You said you could protect me.”
“I said no such thing.”
Hale’s face went pale.
“Cross—”
“You helped these people.”
“They had my son.”
“You are a congressman.”
“I am a father.”
The room became quiet.
Mercer, who had joined us twenty minutes earlier, understood that answer better than anyone.
He looked toward Hale.
“Is your son alive?”
“Yes.”
“Safe?”
“For now.”
Mercer nodded slowly.
“Then you did what fathers do.”
Damian glanced at him.
Mercer continued.
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” Hale whispered.
“But it makes it understandable.”
The rivalry between Mercer and Damian had begun changing.
Shared enemies could do that.
Shared fear could do more.
Hale reached inside his coat.
Marcus immediately moved.
“Relax,” Hale said.
He removed a small notebook.
“I kept dates.”
He handed it to Damian.
“Every call. Every demand. Every meeting location.”
Damian flipped through it.
One address appeared repeatedly.
A private club in Back Bay.
Another: a bank.
Another: Pier Seventeen.
The meeting location Keane had chosen.
“Why this pier?” I asked.
Hale looked at it.
“Northstar used it years ago.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Hale saw something else on the page.
His face changed.
“What?”
He pointed.
“That date.”
Six months earlier.
The same night Anthony Rusk came to Crosswell.
Hale had written:
11:40 p.m. — Keane says problem at terminal. “Rusk has ledger page.”
Everything aligned.
Rusk had stolen part of Northstar’s ledger.
He was shot.
Taken to Crosswell.
Victor retrieved his envelope.
Keane spent six months trying to determine who had seen what.
Then Rebecca found irregular medical records.
Then she created the flash drive.
Then Northstar moved.
“Rusk knew enough to expose the entire system,” I said.
Hale nodded.
“That’s why he died.”
Damian looked at Victor’s video screen.
“You said Rusk died within a week.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Victor hesitated.
“I never knew.”
Hale spoke.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
“Northstar told me because they wanted to frighten me.”
“Where?” Damian demanded.
“Massachusetts General.”
I frowned.
“Public hospital?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Cardiac arrest.”
My stomach dropped.
“How old was he?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Medical history?”
“I don’t know.”
“After a gunshot wound?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Damian.
“They used the medical records.”
“To kill him?” Mercer asked.
“Possibly.”
Hale’s face turned gray.
“They told me his death was proof that nobody escapes.”
I stood.
“If we can access his hospital chart—”
Marcus interrupted.
“Already calling.”
An hour later, Dr. Vasquez reviewed the record.
Rusk had recovered from his wound.
Four days later, he developed a sudden arrhythmia.
He died within minutes.
Elena highlighted a medication administered shortly beforehand.
“Dose is technically within range,” she said.
“But?”
“He had a metabolic condition.”
“What condition?”
“One documented at Crosswell.”
My stomach clenched.
“The medication becomes dangerous?”
“In someone with his condition, yes.”
Damian looked away.
Northstar had used private medical knowledge to engineer a death that looked natural.
Exactly as we feared.
Hale whispered, “How many?”
Nobody answered.
That was the terrifying question.
How many names marked COMPLETE on Rebecca’s list had died the same way?
Marcus returned carrying another file.
“We found Rachel Wynn.”
“Where?” Damian asked.
“Dead.”
The room went silent.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“How?”
“Apparent heart attack.”
Rachel had been maybe forty.
Healthy enough to attend the gala hours earlier.
I felt cold.
“Northstar is cleaning house,” I said.
Damian looked at Hale.
“So are you.”
Hale’s fear became visible.
Marcus immediately ordered additional security.
But Hale shook his head.
“They’ll find me.”
“Not if we find them first,” Damian said.
Hale looked toward him.
“What are you going to do?”
Damian’s eyes moved to the handwritten Pier Seventeen meeting time.
“Exactly what Keane asked.”
My stomach tightened.
“You’re going.”
“Yes.”
“He specifically demanded you and me.”
“I heard him.”
“And?”
“And you’re not coming.”
I stared at Damian.
He seemed almost tired when he added:
“You can argue for the next ten hours if you want.”
Then his eyes met mine.
“But at midnight, Mara, I’m walking onto that pier alone.”
May you like
What neither of us knew yet was that Keane had already planned for Damian to make that choice.
And if Damian arrived without me, Olivia Mercer would die.
