Chapter 4 - The Warehouse by the Water
I left two men outside Keo’s room.
Linda objected.
I ignored her.
“Anyone comes through that door who isn’t hospital staff, you call me.”
My men nodded.
Linda followed me into the hallway.
“You’re not leaving me here.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You said someone found Dr. Bell.”
“I said his car stopped transmitting.”
“That means danger.”
“Exactly.”
“So take me.”
“No.”
She stared at me.
“You followed me across Chicago because you thought I was betraying you.”
“Yes.”
“You walked into my son’s hospital room because you decided his problem was yours.”
“Yes.”
“Then stop deciding which parts of this I’m allowed to face.”
That irritated me because she was right.
I looked past her at Keo’s door.
“You stay behind me.”
“I’m not one of your soldiers.”
“Tonight you are.”
We left.
Julian stayed at the hospital to work through the records.
The rain had turned harder by the time our car reached Calumet Harbor.
Industrial Chicago after dark is a different city.
Steel.
Water.
Freight lights.
Long concrete roads that look abandoned until you realize someone has been watching you for three blocks.
Bell’s sedan was parked near a shuttered storage warehouse.
Driver’s door open.
Headlights on.
No Bell.
Linda saw the blood first.
One drop on the pavement.
Then another.
It led inside.
I told her to wait.
She walked past me.
I grabbed her arm.
She turned.
“Do not make me sit in a car while the only doctor who tried to protect my child bleeds inside a warehouse.”
I let go.
We entered.
The building smelled like wet metal and old oil.
My men spread out.
I heard something move behind a stack of pallets.
Gun in hand, I crossed the floor.
“Bell?”
No answer.
Then a weak voice.
“Here.”
He was sitting against a loading column.
Blood ran from his hairline into his collar.
One eye had already swollen shut.
Linda dropped beside him.
“Oh my God.”
Bell lifted his head.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You called us.”
“I called him.”
He looked at me.
Not because he trusted me.
Because he believed people more dangerous than me were already involved.
I crouched.
“Who did this?”
“Two men.”
“Names?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Did they take anything?”
Bell reached inside his coat.
Empty.
“A flash drive.”
“What was on it?”
“Copies.”
“Of?”
“Helix records.”
Linda pressed a clean handkerchief to his head.
Bell winced.
“Keo’s?”
“Some.”
“Tell me.”
Bell looked at her.
“I need a hospital.”
“You’ll get one,” I said. “Tell her first.”
He closed his good eye.
“Helix Meridian wasn’t just researching marrow compatibility.”
“What were they doing?” Linda asked.
“Cataloguing rare pediatric donors.”
“For transplants?”
“Originally.”
“Originally?”
Bell swallowed.
“Then private money entered the program.”
I felt Linda’s hand stop.
“What kind of private money?”
“Families with children who had conditions conventional treatment couldn’t fix. Wealthy families.”
I understood first.
Buying access.
Not to treatment.
To bodies.
Bell looked at me.
“They were searching for unusually compatible marrow profiles. Children whose genetic markers could match rare recipients.”
Linda’s voice went flat.
“Keo was a donor.”
“I don’t know if he ever donated.”
“Then why was he monitored?”
Bell looked ashamed.
“Because his profile was extraordinary.”
A forklift creaked somewhere in the dark.
Everyone turned.
One of my men raised a hand.
Rat.
Nothing more.
Bell continued.
“His marker combination matched an archived recipient line at a probability the lab had never seen.”
“Who?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Mercer knows?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
Linda closed her eyes.
The betrayal landed differently now.
Not because Daniel had cheated on her.
Because he had known something about their child’s body and kept it hidden.
“Did Daniel enroll Keo?” she asked.
Bell hesitated.
“I found a document suggesting he created the original record.”
Linda stood.
I caught her before she stepped away.
“Let him finish.”
“No.”
“Linda.”
“He used my son.”
Bell shook his head.
“Maybe not.”
She turned.
“What does that mean?”
“There are missing files.”
“Convenient.”
“I’m not defending him.”
“Then don’t.”
Bell breathed through the pain.
“The pieces I recovered suggest Daniel tried to remove Keo from the program.”
Linda went still.
“After he put him in?”
“I don’t know who put him in.”
“But his credentials were on the record.”
“Yes.”
“His signature?”
“Digital authorization.”
“Then he did it.”
“Not necessarily.”
I saw where Bell was going.
“Credentials can be stolen.”
“Yes.”
Linda looked at me.
The possibility did not comfort her.
It only made the mystery larger.
I asked, “What happened three weeks before Daniel died?”
Bell frowned.
“I don’t know.”
“Linda said Daniel warned her never to let anyone take Keo’s blood.”
Bell’s face changed.
“When?”
“Three weeks before the crash.”
Bell stared at the floor.
“Then he knew.”
“Knew what?”
Bell looked at Linda.
“That someone was still tracking the child.”
A phone rang.
Not mine.
Not Linda’s.
Bell’s.
We all looked at him.
He reached slowly into his pocket.
A cheap prepaid phone.
Unknown caller.
I answered it.
No greeting.
A woman’s voice said,
“Mr. Gallo.”
Linda heard.
Bell heard.
I said, “Dr. Mercer.”
Silence.
Then,
“You should not involve yourself in this.”
I smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because people who begin conversations with warnings usually think they still control the room.
“You withdrew funding from a seven-year-old boy.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You forged his dead father’s consent.”
“No.”
“Someone under you did.”
Another pause.
“Bring Dr. Bell back to the hospital.”
“He was on his way until two men stopped him.”
“That was not my order.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
Bell looked at me.
So did Linda.
Mercer realized it too.
She corrected herself.
“I don’t know what happened to him.”
“Then why are you calling his phone?”
“Because he stole confidential records.”
“He copied evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“You tell me.”
Her voice hardened.
“Mr. Gallo, there are medical histories here that involve powerful people. Families who have nothing to do with your world.”
“My world?”
“Do not play with me.”
“Doctor, you called me.”
Linda stepped forward.
“Ask her who Keo matches.”
Mercer heard.
She went quiet.
I put the call on speaker.
Linda took the phone from my hand.
“This is Keo’s mother.”
“I know who you are.”
“Who does my son match?”
“Ms. Rivera—”
“Who?”
Mercer exhaled.
“It is not that simple.”
“Then make it simple.”
“There are privacy laws.”
“My child’s blood has been tracked under his dead father’s name for years and you want to talk about privacy?”
Mercer did not answer.
Linda’s voice dropped.
“Did Daniel know?”
“Yes.”
The word broke something.
Not loudly.
Linda simply lowered the phone.
Her face emptied.
I took it back.
“What did Daniel know?”
Mercer answered more carefully now.
“He knew Keo was a rare match.”
“For whom?”
“I will discuss this only in person.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Seven a.m. My office.”
“No.”
“Then we are done.”
“We meet tonight.”
“I am not leaving my home at this hour.”
I looked at the warehouse around us.
At Bell bleeding against a column.
At Linda staring at the concrete.
“You already sent people into the night.”
Again, silence.
“I told you,” Mercer said, “I did not order an attack.”
“Then you have a different problem.”
“What?”
“Someone else is cleaning up your secrets.”
That landed.
I heard it in her breathing.
Before she could answer, one of my men shouted.
“Movement outside.”
Lights flashed across the broken warehouse windows.
Two black SUVs.
No plates.
Mercer whispered through the phone,
“Get out of there.”
Then the first shot shattered the glass.
I pulled Linda to the floor.
Bell curled against the column.
My men fired back.
The lights outside went dark.
For thirty seconds, the warehouse became noise.
Metal.
Gunfire.
Breaking glass.
Then silence.
We moved Bell through a rear loading bay while one of my cars blocked the street.
Linda ran beside me.
No screaming.
No hesitation.
Only one question when we reached the car.
“Was that Mercer?”
Bell shook his head.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
He pressed a hand to the blood at his temple.
“Because the men who took my drive said a name.”
I looked at him.
“What name?”
Bell’s good eye met mine.
“Mateo.”
The fake brother from Daniel’s death certificate.
May you like
A man who did not exist.
Except apparently he did.
