Chapter 5 - Someone Broke Into Crosswell
The basement laboratory at Crosswell Clinic had always been the quietest place in the building.
At two in the morning, it became unsettling.
Machines hummed behind glass.
Refrigerators clicked on and off.
Fluorescent lights reflected from steel surfaces.
Thirty-two blood samples sat inside a locked evidence refrigerator while Damian, Marcus, Victor, Dr. Elena Vasquez, and I stood around a lab bench trying to understand why someone had transported them through East Boston using Damian’s shipping numbers.
Dr. Vasquez had delivered babies during hurricanes, repaired arteries after shootings, and once finished stitching a wound while a drunken patient threatened to sue her for ruining his tattoo.
Very little surprised her.
The vial marked D.C. surprised her.
“You’re certain?” Damian asked.
“I know every test ordered under your name during the last four years.”
“And?”
“I’ve personally taken almost every sample.”
“You didn’t take this.”
“No.”
She held the tube toward the light.
“And the collection date is impossible.”
“Why?”
“You were in London.”
Damian looked toward Marcus.
Marcus nodded.
“He was.”
Victor rubbed a hand across his mouth.
“Someone fabricated the record.”
Dr. Vasquez shook her head.
“Not just the record. The sample.”
I looked at her.
“You think it’s real blood?”
“It looks real.”
“Whose?”
“That requires testing.”
“Do it,” Damian said.
Dr. Vasquez gave him the expression doctors reserved for rich men who believed money could make machines move faster.
“It takes time.”
“How much?”
“Basic DNA comparison, several hours if we prioritize it.”
“You have my blood?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You own a private clinic.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“Yes.”
“Then compare it.”
Dr. Vasquez picked up the vial.
“I’ll call when I know.”
She turned to leave.
I stopped her.
“Elena.”
She looked back.
“Run the others too.”
Victor frowned.
“Against what?”
“Hospital database profiles if legally available. Crosswell records for patients who consented. Anything we can legitimately compare.”
Damian nodded.
“Do it.”
Elena looked at me.
“You realize I’m going to ask questions eventually.”
“So am I.”
She left.
Damian turned toward Marcus.
“Lock the building.”
“It’s already locked.”
“Again.”
Marcus understood.
“Employees?”
“Nobody leaves until we determine who accessed the samples.”
I stared at Damian.
“You cannot imprison hospital staff.”
“I’m not imprisoning them.”
“You just ordered—”
“They’ll be interviewed and provided transportation afterward.”
“Damian.”
His expression softened slightly.
“No one innocent will be harmed.”
“That sentence sounds less comforting when you say it.”
Victor actually laughed.
Damian glanced toward him.
“I’m glad somebody’s enjoying himself.”
“For what it’s worth, she’s right.”
“Victor.”
“I’ll stop.”
The strange familiarity between them made the betrayal question harder.
Victor had hidden Rusk’s envelope.
But he had also come to the container yard instead of disappearing.
He admitted authorizing Rusk.
Either he was a traitor with unusual confidence or something more complicated was happening.
I turned toward the computer terminal.
“Let’s check specimen logs.”
The lab supervisor entered credentials remotely.
I searched the date on Damian’s fake sample.
The record existed.
Patient: CROSS, DAMIAN.
Ordering physician: Dr. Elena Vasquez.
Collector identification—
I froze.
“What?”
Damian moved beside me.
The employee ID belonged to someone I knew.
Very well.
Nurse Rebecca Sloan.
My closest friend at Crosswell.
“No.”
“What?” Damian asked.
I leaned toward the screen.
“It says Rebecca collected the sample.”
“Who’s Rebecca?”
“One of our nurses.”
“Where is she?”
“Off tonight.”
Marcus was already dialing.
I grabbed his wrist.
“Do not send armed men to her apartment.”
He looked at Damian.
Damian looked at me.
“You think she’s innocent?”
“I know her.”
Victor spoke quietly.
“Damian knew me too.”
That silenced the room.
I slowly let go of Marcus.
“Call her first.”
Marcus dialed.
Speakerphone.
Ring.
Again.
Again.
Voicemail.
My stomach tightened.
“She sleeps with her phone next to her.”
“Address?” Marcus asked.
I gave it reluctantly.
Damian turned toward the door.
“I’m coming.”
“So am I.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“We already had this argument.”
“And I still dislike your answer.”
“Rebecca is my friend.”
“That makes you emotionally compromised.”
“And Victor is yours.”
Victor winced.
“Fair.”
Damian gave him a look.
Victor lifted both hands.
We drove to Beacon Hill in two SUVs.
Rebecca rented a third-floor apartment above a bakery.
The street was quiet.
Too quiet.
Marcus entered first with two security officers.
I waited fifteen seconds before ignoring Damian and following.
He muttered something behind me.
Rebecca’s apartment door was unlocked.
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Rebecca?”
No answer.
Living room.
Empty.
Kitchen.
Empty.
A lamp was on.
Coffee sat cold on a table.
Her phone rested beside it.
Damian picked it up carefully.
“Battery’s dead.”
I walked toward the bedroom.
“Rebecca?”
The bed was made.
Closet open.
Several hangers empty.
Suitcase gone.
I felt relief.
“She left.”
Marcus entered.
“Not voluntarily.”
He pointed toward the floor.
A broken bracelet lay near the doorway.
I recognized it.
Rebecca’s grandmother had given it to her.
She never removed it.
The clasp wasn’t open.
It was snapped.
Damian looked around.
“Search everything.”
His men moved.
I entered the bathroom.
Nothing.
Then saw a small yellow note taped beneath the mirror.
Not visible from the doorway.
I pulled it loose.
One sentence.
Mara — if anything happens, check locker 314. Don’t trust the system.
My hands began shaking.
Damian appeared behind me.
“What is it?”
I showed him.
His face hardened.
“Locker where?”
“At Crosswell.”
We returned within twelve minutes.
Locker 314 belonged to Rebecca.
Marcus insisted on checking it before I approached.
Inside were ordinary things.
Scrubs.
Shoes.
Protein bars.
A paperback romance novel.
Then I saw a second pair of shoes positioned strangely.
I moved them.
Behind them was a flash drive taped to the metal wall.
“Don’t touch it,” Marcus said.
I looked at him.
“You’re becoming irritating.”
“That is literally my job.”
He photographed it before removing it with gloves.
We took it to an isolated laptop.
No network connection.
The drive contained three folders.
One labeled PATIENTS.
One labeled PORT.
One labeled INSURANCE.
Victor frowned.
“Insurance?”
I opened it.
Dozens of PDF files appeared.
Life insurance policies.
Executives.
Politicians.
Union leaders.
Business owners.
Some connected to Damian.
Some to Mercer.
Some to neither.
Every policy was enormous.
Five million.
Ten million.
Twenty million.
“What is this?” I whispered.
Damian studied the names.
“These aren’t random.”
“How are they connected?”
Victor leaned over.
“They all control something.”
“What?”
“Land. Contracts. Votes. Companies.”
I opened another file.
The policy beneficiary was a holding company I did not recognize.
Then another.
Same beneficiary.
Another.
Same.
Thirty-one people.
One corporate entity.
Northstar Legacy Holdings.
Marcus searched offline databases downloaded from corporate records.
“Company registered in Delaware.”
“To who?” Damian asked.
“Layers of shell corporations.”
“Final beneficial owner?”
“Hidden.”
Victor became pale.
“I know that name.”
Damian turned.
“From where?”
“Rusk’s envelope.”
The room went still.
“What about it?”
“One of the manifests referenced Northstar.”
Damian’s voice turned cold.
“You omitted that earlier.”
“I didn’t understand it then.”
“Do you understand it now?”
Victor stared at the insurance policies.
“Someone has been building financial incentives around these people.”
I looked at the names.
“What do you mean?”
“If certain people die,” Victor said slowly, “Northstar gets paid.”
My stomach turned.
“No insurance company would approve this without—”
“Fraud,” Damian finished.
I opened the PATIENTS folder.
Thirty-two numbered files.
The same numbers from the blood samples.
Each file contained health information.
Medications.
Allergies.
Cardiac conditions.
Previous surgeries.
I felt sick.
“This is enough to hurt people without making it look deliberate.”
Damian’s eyes moved toward me.
“How?”
I swallowed.
“A wrong medication.”
Silence.
“A manipulated dosage.”
Marcus stopped typing.
“Something administered during a legitimate medical emergency.”
Victor stared at the screen.
“Natural-looking deaths.”
I nodded.
Damian suddenly walked away from the desk.
He stood facing the dark window.
His shoulders were completely still.
I realized why.
Crosswell wasn’t merely being used to store information.
Someone had transformed a medical clinic into a weapon.
His clinic.
His name.
His infrastructure.
I walked beside him.
“You didn’t know.”
“That won’t matter if someone dies.”
“It matters.”
“Not to their families.”
His voice was quiet.
I had never heard Damian Cross sound guilty before.
Then Marcus spoke.
“Mara.”
Something in his tone made me turn.
He had opened another document.
“What?”
“You need to see this.”
I approached.
A list filled the screen.
Thirty-two patient numbers.
Thirty-two names.
The final file had been encrypted, but Rebecca had left a password hint.
The person who notices.
I stared.
Marcus entered my employee number.
The file opened.
The thirty-second entry appeared.
I stopped breathing.
ELLISON, MARA
Insurance value:
$15,000,000.
My hands went numb.
Damian read it.
His entire expression changed.
Not shock.
Not fear.
Something colder.
“What the hell is this?” Marcus whispered.
I could barely speak.
“Apparently someone thinks I’m worth fifteen million dollars dead.”
Damian’s hand closed around the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles whitened.
Victor looked toward him.
“Damian.”
He didn’t answer.
“Damian.”
Finally he looked at me.
Every trace of the man who had been stunned by my crimson dress was gone.
The man standing beside me now was the one Boston feared.
“Find Rebecca,” he told Marcus.
“Already working on it.”
“Find Northstar.”
“Yes.”
“And Victor?”
Victor waited.
“If Mercer is involved, I want every piece of information you’ve ever hidden from me.”
Victor nodded.
Damian looked at my name on the screen again.
“And whoever put Mara on that list…”
His voice lowered.
“I want them found before they realize we know.”
That should have frightened me.
Instead, something else did.
I scrolled farther down.
There was a column labeled STATUS.
Most names read ACTIVE.
Three read COMPLETE.
My name read:
PRIORITY — 48 HOURS.
I looked at Damian.
“We may not have much time.”
He stared at the screen.
“No.”
May you like
His eyes lifted to mine.
“We have forty-eight hours.”
