Chapter 12 - PATIENT ZERO
The brass token opened a locker that officially did not exist.
Clara discovered that at 8:10 the following morning when she, Victor, and Roman entered Grand Central beneath the watch of six discreet security men.
Locker 814—the one Nathan had used before—was empty now.
The token led somewhere else.
An elderly station employee recognized its unusual serial number.
“Old luggage tunnels,” he said. “Closed after 9/11.”
Victor produced enough authority without explaining where it came from.
Twenty minutes later they were beneath the terminal.
Clara hated underground spaces.
Victor noticed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good enough?”
She smiled faintly.
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything you say.”
“That sounds romantic until I remember who you are.”
Roman groaned behind them.
“Can you two flirt after we find the possible murder archive?”
The token opened a rusted steel door.
Inside stood shelves.
Hundreds of medical files.
Clara stopped breathing.
Nathan had built an archive.
Not of criminals.
Of victims.
Patients whose records had been altered, evidence removed, diagnoses changed, or deaths manipulated.
Victor opened the first box.
Roman another.
Clara reached for one marked:
P0 — ARDEN, THOMAS.
Patient Zero.
Thomas Arden had discovered money moving through hospitals, police departments, shipping companies, and political foundations.
When he tried to expose it, someone stabbed him.
Nathan saved him.
Then Nathan falsified his death.
Clara stared at the signature.
Her father had lied on a death certificate.
Victor watched her.
“You okay?”
“My father committed a felony.”
“To save a witness.”
“I know.”
“You sound disappointed.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
She touched Nathan’s signature.
“I’m realizing he was more complicated than the man who made pancakes.”
Inside the folder was a photograph of Thomas with a young woman.
On the back:
Thomas Arden and daughter, Rebecca.
Clara turned it over.
The woman was the same person she had seen inside the black sedan.
Nathan’s old identification badge hung around her neck.
Roman cursed softly.
A sound came from the corridor.
Victor immediately moved in front of Clara.
Footsteps.
Slow.
A woman appeared.
Rebecca Arden.
She raised both hands.
“I’m not armed.”
Victor did not lower his gun.
“Your father nearly died last night.”
“I know.”
“You stole his coat.”
“I needed the key he had sewn into it.”
Clara stepped around Victor.
“Why?”
Rebecca looked at her.
“Because my father has spent fifteen years preparing for this week.”
“What happens this week?”
Rebecca swallowed.
“The man Nathan was actually investigating gets released.”
Silence.
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“Elias?”
“No.”
“Samuel?”
“No.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Neither of them was at the top.”
Clara felt cold.
“Then who?”
Rebecca opened another file.
Inside was a photograph of a handsome man standing beside Nathan at a hospital fundraiser.
Clara recognized him immediately.
Everyone in New York did.
Dr. Jonathan Mercer.
Founder of the Mercer Health Foundation.
Philanthropist.
Billionaire.
Presidential Medal recipient.
The man whose name appeared on pediatric hospitals across three states.
Rebecca spoke quietly.
“Your father believed Mercer built his medical empire by laundering money for organized crime.”
Victor looked through the records.
“And he’s being released?”
“Not from prison.”
Rebecca's expression tightened.
“From hospice.”
Clara frowned.
“He’s dying?”
“According to his doctors.”
“Then what are we afraid of?”
May you like
Rebecca looked directly at her.
“That he isn’t sick.”
