Chapter 7 - THE NAME IN GENEVIEVE’S LETTER
Lawson did not sleep.
At seven the next morning he ordered Prescott to trace every person who had handled the twins’ samples.
At eight he requested medical transport records.
At nine he had three former federal investigators quietly brought onto his payroll.
At ten, Nora told him he looked terrible.
He stared at her.
“That’s your contribution?”
“You’ve had six coffees.”
“So?”
“Your hands are shaking.”
“They’re not.”
She looked at his hand.
It was.
Lawson set down the cup.
“Happy?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Nora had spent the morning reading old Meridian documents on a secure tablet Prescott provided.
Most led nowhere.
Shell companies.
Former directors.
Corporate mergers.
Consulting agreements.
Then one name appeared twice.
Genevieve Mercer.
Nora’s breath stopped.
Lawson’s late wife.
She clicked the document.
It was dated seven years earlier.
Genevieve had served as an unpaid director of the Mercer Children’s Health Foundation.
The foundation had funded a medication safety audit at several hospitals using Meridian products.
Nora read faster.
The audit had been canceled six months after it began.
Reason:
Funding withdrawn.
She looked across the hospital lounge.
Lawson was asleep in a chair beside the twins’ room.
For once, he did not look dangerous.
He looked exhausted.
Human.
Nora hated what she was about to ask.
“Lawson.”
His eyes opened instantly.
“What happened?”
“Nothing with the twins.”
He sat upright.
Nora handed him the tablet.
“Your wife investigated Meridian.”
His face changed before he took it.
“Genevieve?”
“Seven years ago.”
He read.
The silence stretched.
“I didn’t know.”
“You were married to her.”
“I know who I was married to.”
Nora remained quiet.
Lawson scrolled.
“She never mentioned this.”
“Maybe she did.”
His eyes hardened.
“I would remember.”
“Would you?”
He looked up.
Nora immediately regretted the question.
But she did not take it back.
Lawson stood.
“You know nothing about my marriage.”
“No.”
“Then don’t pretend you do.”
“I’m not.”
“You think because you made my children eat popsicles you understand this family?”
“No.”
She stepped back.
“I think people hide things from the people they love when they’re afraid of what the truth will cost.”
That stopped him.
Genevieve had done exactly that before.
Not about Meridian.
About her illness.
She had hidden the headaches for nearly four months before doctors found the aneurysm that would later kill her.
Not because she was weak.
Because Lawson was at war with Crosby Vane and she refused to become another thing he had to defend.
He sat back down.
“Keep reading.”
Nora did.
The audit had been led by a pharmacist named Samuel Crane.
Lawson knew him.
Or rather, he knew the name.
“He died.”
Nora looked up.
“When?”
“Six years ago. Car accident.”
Her expression darkened.
“Convenient.”
Lawson took out his phone.
“Prescott.”
No answer.
He called again.
Nothing.
That was unusual.
“Where is he?”
Nora asked.
“Supposed to be reviewing security logs.”
Lawson called the operations center.
A guard answered.
“Mr. Hale left the estate an hour ago.”
“Where?”
“He didn’t say.”
Lawson stood.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message from Prescott.
ONE HOUR. TRUST ME.
Lawson stared at it.
Nora read his face.
“What?”
“Prescott disappeared.”
“Is that bad?”
“Prescott doesn’t disappear.”
Another message arrived.
DO NOT CALL.
Lawson’s stomach tightened.
He called anyway.
No answer.
Then Dr. Yates appeared with his guard.
“I need to tell you something.”
Lawson turned.
“What?”
Yates looked at Nora.
“About Genevieve.”
Lawson’s entire body changed.
“You knew my wife?”
“Medically.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Not officially.”
Lawson moved closer.
“Explain.”
Yates swallowed.
“Six months before she died, she contacted me privately.”
Nora stared.
“About Meridian?”
“Yes.”
“Why you?” Lawson asked.
“Because I had worked at St. Matthew’s early in my career.”
Nora’s face tightened.
“You knew about the medication concerns before my complaint.”
Yates nodded.
“I suspected.”
“You let them destroy me.”
“I was afraid.”
Nora laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“Apparently that’s your answer for everything.”
Yates looked ashamed.
Lawson interrupted.
“What did Genevieve want?”
“She had found evidence that Meridian’s distribution network was being used for something beyond ordinary pharmaceutical contracts.”
“What?”
“Money laundering. Smuggling. Possibly controlled medication diversion.”
Lawson’s face hardened.
Those businesses were not his.
But they were businesses he understood.
“Crosby?”
“We didn’t know then.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
Yates looked at him.
“She said you would start a war.”
Lawson said nothing.
Because she had been right.
“She wanted proof first,” Yates continued. “She believed someone connected to your father’s old company had helped establish the network years earlier.”
Nora opened the archived corporate filing again.
“Mercer Health Logistics.”
“Yes.”
Lawson shook his head.
“My father had dozens of companies.”
“Genevieve thought one employee carried the operation forward after the company closed.”
“Who?”
Yates hesitated.
“I never knew.”
“Did she?”
“I think so.”
Lawson’s voice became colder.
“Where is the proof?”
“Genevieve kept a paper file.”
“Where?”
“She never told me.”
Nora looked at Lawson.
“Your wife left personal papers?”
“Everything was stored.”
“Where?”
“At the estate.”
The estate had been attacked.
Suddenly Lawson understood why.
Not merely the children.
Not merely weakness.
Crosby’s men had entered a mansion containing evidence Genevieve had hidden seven years earlier.
Lawson called Odessa.
She answered immediately.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to remember something.”
“That depends. I’m old, not magical.”
“Genevieve. Papers. Files. Something she kept hidden.”
Odessa went silent.
“Odessa?”
“There was a box.”
Lawson stood straighter.
“What box?”
“Blue. Wooden.”
“Where?”
“Her sewing room.”
“That room was cleared after she died.”
“Not everything.”
Lawson closed his eyes.
“Where is it?”
Odessa lowered her voice.
“She made me promise.”
“Odessa.”
“She said if anything happened to her, I should not give it to you until your children needed the truth more than you needed revenge.”
Lawson stopped breathing.
Nora felt gooseflesh rise along her arms.
“What does that mean?”
“I never knew.”
“Where is the box?”
“Behind the old nursery fireplace.”
Lawson looked toward Nora.
Blythe and Jonah’s first nursery.
A room he had not entered since Genevieve died.
“Get it.”
“I already did.”
Lawson froze.
“Where are you?”
“Hospital parking garage.”
The elevator opened two minutes later.
Odessa emerged carrying an old blue wooden box wrapped in a blanket.
Lawson took it from her.
His hands trembled.
There was a brass lock.
No key.
Nora looked at Odessa.
“Did Genevieve leave one?”
Odessa shook her head.
Lawson stared at the box.
Then remembered.
The necklace.
Blythe wore Genevieve’s old silver chain during every hospital treatment because she said it made her mother “closer.”
Hanging from that chain was a tiny brass key Lawson had always assumed belonged to a jewelry box.
He walked into the children’s room.
Blythe was awake.
“Daddy?”
He sat beside her.
“Can I borrow Mommy’s necklace?”
Her hand instinctively covered it.
“Why?”
“I think she left us something.”
Blythe studied him.
Then removed the chain.
“You have to give it back.”
“I promise.”
He kissed her forehead.
The key fit.
Inside the blue box were letters, photographs, financial documents, and an old voice recorder.
On top was an envelope.
LAWSON.
His name in Genevieve’s handwriting.
He could not open it.
Nora sat beside him.
“You don’t have to read it now.”
“Yes.”
His voice broke.
“I do.”
He opened the envelope.
The first line destroyed him.
Lawson,
If you are reading this, I failed to finish something I should have told you about while I still had the courage.
He kept reading.
Genevieve described Meridian.
Samuel Crane.
The canceled audit.
A hidden corporate network.
And then came the sentence that made Lawson stop.
The man moving Crosby’s money is someone you trust more than you trust yourself.
Lawson read it again.
Below that was a single name.
Prescott Hale.
At that exact moment, the hospital doors opened.
Prescott walked in.
May you like
There was blood on his shirt.
And a gun in his hand.
