Chapter 3 - THE CONTRACTS GO DARK
Grant reached the parking garage expecting his car to be waiting.
It was not.
His company driver had been denied access to the secured level.
Vanessa followed him through the concrete corridor, one hand pressed against her stomach and the other clutching her handbag.
“You told me he was a retired investor,” she hissed.
“That is what Emma told me.”
“Alexander Hale is not a retired investor.”
“I know who he is.”
“Apparently you didn’t.”
Grant stopped beside the elevator.
His face had become pale beneath the fluorescent lights.
Vanessa had seen him angry.
She had seen him cruel.
She had never seen him afraid.
His phone rang.
Miles Danner’s name appeared again.
Grant answered.
“What?”
“We have a problem,” Miles said.
“I am aware of that.”
“No, you’re not.”
Grant turned away from Vanessa.
“What happened?”
“Beacon Crest suspended every active purchasing contract.”
Grant said nothing.
Mercer Clinical Systems earned almost seventy percent of its revenue through Beacon Crest hospitals.
The contracts were the reason lenders trusted the company.
They were the reason investors believed Grant was a visionary.
Without them, the company would not survive three months.
“Temporary suspension?” Grant asked.
“Pending audit.”
“Then it is temporary.”
“Three other hospital groups received the notice.”
Grant’s grip tightened around the phone.
“How?”
“The compliance alert was distributed across the regional procurement consortium.”
“That information was confidential.”
“So were the inspection reports Conrad was supposed to delete.”
Vanessa watched Grant carefully.
She had known about the altered compliance reports.
She had helped select the subcontractor that manufactured the cheaper regulator housings.
She had told herself the components were equivalent.
She had stopped asking questions when the profit margins doubled.
“Where is Conrad?” Grant asked.
“Missing.”
“Find him.”
“I am not a detective.”
“You are the chief financial officer.”
“And you are the man who just walked into Alexander Hale’s hospital and threatened his granddaughter.”
Grant ended the call.
The elevator doors opened.
Two security officers stood inside.
“Mr. Mercer,” one said.
“Your access to this level has been revoked.”
“My vehicle is parked here.”
“We will arrange for it to be delivered outside the main entrance.”
Grant stepped closer.
“Do you understand who I am?”
The officer’s expression did not change.
“Yes.”
For the first time, the answer offered Grant no comfort.
Outside, reporters were already gathering near the hospital entrance.
Someone had leaked news of the lockdown.
Camera crews pointed toward every person leaving the building.
Vanessa stopped.
“I cannot go out there.”
Grant grabbed her elbow.
“We walk to the car.”
“They’ll photograph me.”
“You wanted people to know about us.”
“Not like this.”
He pulled her forward.
The shouting began immediately.
“Mr. Mercer, has Beacon Crest suspended your contracts?”
“Is it true your company supplied a defective neonatal component?”
“Who is the woman with you?”
“Is your wife still hospitalized?”
Vanessa raised one hand to shield her face.
Grant pushed through the crowd without answering.
A black sedan stopped at the curb.
They climbed inside.
Before the door closed, a reporter shouted one final question.
“Did your product fail while attached to your own premature son?”
Grant froze.
Vanessa turned toward him.
“How do they know that?”
He slammed the door.
At Mercer Clinical Systems, employees gathered silently in the lobby.
Trading in the company’s private secondary shares had been suspended.
Two lenders had requested emergency calls.
The board chairman wanted Grant in the conference room.
Grant strode past everyone.
Vanessa followed more slowly.
Inside the executive office, he opened the hidden drawer beneath his desk.
A passport.
Cash.
A second phone.
And a flash drive were supposed to be inside.
The drawer was empty.
Grant stared at it.
Vanessa stood behind him.
“What are you looking for?”
“Nothing.”
“That does not look like nothing.”
He closed the drawer.
“Go home.”
“My things are in your apartment.”
“My apartment is being watched.”
“It was supposed to become our apartment.”
Grant turned toward her.
“Do not start.”
“I am carrying your child.”
“Then act like it.”
The words struck her harder than he intended.
For the first time, Vanessa heard an echo of what he had said about Noah and Elise.
Too weak.
A burden.
An obstacle to his future.
She placed one hand protectively over her stomach.
“You promised we would leave together if anything went wrong.”
“Nothing has gone wrong.”
“Your contracts are frozen.”
“They will be restored.”
“Your product nearly suffocated your son.”
Grant’s eyes became cold.
“You were the one who approved Orison Plastics.”
Vanessa’s breath caught.
“You signed the authorization.”
“Because you told me the materials passed testing.”
“They did.”
“The original ones did.”
Silence filled the office.
Grant walked toward her.
“The revised polymer did not.”
Vanessa stepped backward.
“You knew?”
“I knew it was cheaper.”
“You knew it cracked under heat sterilization.”
“I knew the failure rate was within a manageable range.”
“Manageable?”
Her voice broke.
“A premature baby almost died.”
Grant’s expression did not change.
“Do not pretend you suddenly developed a conscience.”
He picked up the office phone.
“Call Miles. Tell him to prepare a statement blaming a counterfeit supplier.”
Vanessa continued staring at him.
“You would have let Emma’s baby die.”
“Our baby,” Grant corrected impatiently.
Vanessa touched her stomach again.
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You said Emma’s baby.”
Grant looked toward the dark window.
His reflection stared back at him.
For one second, Vanessa wondered whether he had ever loved any child.
Or any woman.
His computer chimed.
An email had arrived from Beacon Crest’s external investigators.
NOTICE OF DOCUMENT PRESERVATION.
Grant opened it.
Every device, account, manufacturing record, vendor message, and internal communication was now subject to legal preservation.
Destroying evidence would be a criminal act.
Grant closed the message.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“Where is the flash drive?”
“What flash drive?”
“The one from my drawer.”
“I never touched it.”
“Only four people know this drawer exists.”
“I am not one of them.”
Grant’s phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared from an unknown sender.
It showed the missing drive resting on a wooden table.
Beside it was a folded newspaper dated that morning.
The message beneath the photograph contained four words.
I KEPT MY COPY.
Grant stared at the screen.
Vanessa leaned closer.
“Who sent that?”
He recognized the table.
He had seen it dozens of times inside Conrad Voss’s private office.
But Conrad was not supposed to have a copy.
The flash drive contained the original test results.
The altered invoices.
The payments.
And a recorded conversation in which Grant had explained exactly how many device failures the company could afford before the deception became unprofitable.
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Conrad had not disappeared because he was protecting Grant.
He had disappeared because he was preparing to destroy him.
