Chapter 2 - THE THING EMMA REMEMBERED
Emma woke to the sound of rain.
Not the hospital monitor.
Not the footsteps outside her room.
Rain.
For several seconds she didn't know where she was. She tried to swallow and pain tore through her jaw.
A small sound escaped her.
I was beside her instantly.
“Emma?”
Her eyes opened.
They were unfocused at first.
Then they found me.
Recognition came slowly.
Her fingers moved beneath mine.
I leaned closer.
“You're safe.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
I wanted to tell her everything was going to be fine.
I couldn't.
Not anymore.
A nurse came in, followed by the surgeon.
They checked her pupils, asked simple questions, and adjusted the medication.
Emma kept looking at me.
When they finally left, she raised one trembling hand.
I understood.
She wanted paper.
I found a notepad and pen.
Her fingers shook as she wrote.
WHERE WERE YOU?
I stared at the words.
“I was here.”
She shook her head.
Then she wrote again.
BEFORE.
I understood what she meant.
Before the hospital.
Before the attack.
Before she had been found bleeding outside the science building.
She wanted to know whether I had been followed.
“I don't know.”
She watched me carefully.
I didn't lie.
Her eyes moved toward the door.
I understood that too.
She wanted privacy.
I locked it.
Emma wrote three words.
THEY WANTED SOMETHING.
“What?”
She tried to write.
Her hand stopped.
Pain crossed her face.
I gently took the pen.
“You don't have to.”
She shook her head violently.
Then she pointed toward her jacket.
The jacket had been placed inside a property bag.
I brought it over.
She stared at the torn fabric.
Then she pointed toward the inside seam.
I searched it.
Nothing.
Emma's breathing quickened.
I checked again.
Still nothing.
She looked frustrated.
Then she touched her left ear.
“Your earring?”
She nodded.
I searched her personal belongings.
There was one small silver earring in the bag.
Emma stared at it.
I handed it to her.
She twisted the back loose.
A tiny black memory card fell into her palm.
My pulse changed.
She had hidden it inside the earring.
“What is on it?”
Emma wrote:
NORTHSTAR.
The word meant nothing to me.
Not yet.
I called Sloan.
He arrived twenty minutes later with a laptop and a face that suggested he had already heard the name.
“You know it.”
Sloan looked at Emma.
“Yes.”
Emma's eyes narrowed.
He pulled up a chair.
“Northstar was a university-funded medical research initiative.”
Emma shook her head.
She wrote:
WAS.
Sloan nodded.
“Officially, it ended three years ago.”
Emma wrote:
IT DIDN'T.
She pointed at the card.
Sloan inserted it into the laptop.
The screen filled with encrypted folders.
Dates.
Patient numbers.
Payment records.
Laboratory results.
I didn't understand the science.
But I understood the money.
Millions had moved through shell foundations.
Some were connected to Cole Construction.
Some to Hale Civic Holdings.
Some to Whitmore Medical Investments.
And one name appeared repeatedly in the financial records.
Callahan Strategic Consulting.
Sloan went still.
“What?”
I looked at him.
He didn't answer.
Emma watched his face.
“Tell me.”
Sloan closed his eyes.
“Callahan was a private security firm.”
“And?”
“It worked for your organization.”
Silence filled the room.
Emma looked at me.
I had never told her the details of my former life.
She knew I had once been involved in dangerous business.
She didn't know how deep it went.
I looked at Sloan.
“How many people know?”
“About Northstar?”
“About Callahan.”
“Very few.”
“Victor?”
Sloan nodded.
“Victor knew.”
Emma wrote another sentence.
VICTOR DIDN'T START IT.
I read it twice.
“Then who did?”
She turned the paper over.
On the back she wrote a name.
MARCUS VALE.
I felt the room tilt.
Marcus Vale had been my father's attorney.
He had handled the final years of my organization before I walked away.
He had also been the man who told me, nineteen years ago, that my old world could never follow me if I disappeared completely.
I had believed him.
Emma had just told me he was still alive.
Sloan stared at the name.
“You know him?”
“I know exactly who he is.”
A knock sounded at the door.
The nurse entered.
“Mr. Walker, there is a detective asking to speak with you.”
“What detective?”
“Detective Harris.”
I looked at Sloan.
He shook his head.
“Don't talk to him alone.”
The detective entered before I answered.
Mid-forties.
Plain suit.
No expression.
“Mr. Walker.”
“Detective.”
He glanced at Emma.
“We need to ask some questions.”
“She's not ready.”
“I understand.”
He looked at me.
“But I think you are.”
His gaze dropped briefly to the hospital property bag.
Then to the laptop.
Then back to me.
“Where did you get that?”
I closed the laptop.
“What?”
“The drive.”
I said nothing.
His expression changed.
“You should be careful, Mr. Walker.”
“About what?”
“People around you.”
He turned to leave.
At the door, he stopped.
“One more thing.”
I waited.
“Ethan Cole's father called the department this morning.”
“Why?”
“He says his son was defending himself.”
My hands became fists.
“From a woman with six facial fractures?”
The detective's eyes hardened.
“That's the story.”
He left.
Emma watched me.
Then she slowly wrote:
HE'S LYING.
I nodded.
“I know.”
She wrote one more sentence.
DON'T BECOME HIM.
I stared at her.
She meant my father.
Or perhaps the man I used to be.
I kissed her forehead.
“I won't.”
May you like
Outside the hospital window, the rain grew heavier.
And somewhere across the city, someone was already making another move.
