Chapter 9 - Patient Sixteen
Valence Clinical Group wasn't a hospital.
That was the first thing I learned.
On paper, it was a network of outpatient research facilities specializing in post-surgical rehabilitation and medical equipment evaluation.
Its website showed smiling physicians, modern treatment rooms, and patients walking through sunny gardens.
The photographs were beautiful.
The language was reassuring.
The facilities, according to their advertising, helped people regain independence after difficult medical procedures.
But the more Elena investigated, the stranger the organization became.
Valence received funding from private investment groups.
Its ownership structure passed through multiple holding companies.
Meridian Biomedical was one of them.
Two subsidiaries had been dissolved after regulatory complaints.
Another had changed its name three times.
At least one former employee had filed a lawsuit alleging patient consent irregularities.
The suit had been settled confidentially.
I sat in Dad's office reading the information while rain struck the windows.
“So what were they doing?” I asked.
Elena closed her laptop.
“We don't know yet.”
“Illegal trials?”
“Possibly. Or fraudulent billing. Or unauthorized use of equipment. We need evidence before accusing anyone.”
I nodded.
I had learned the difference between suspicion and proof the hard way.
But I could feel the outline of something ugly taking shape.
“Can we find Patient Sixteen?”
“Not without access to Valence records.”
“Could federal investigators get them?”
“They're working on it.”
I looked at the keycard lying on my desk.
Building Four.
Room 312.
Someone wanted me to go there.
Elena followed my gaze.
“No.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were thinking it loudly.”
“I could find out who sent the message.”
“Or walk into another trap.”
I sighed.
“Dad would have gone.”
“Your father also wrote you a letter warning that powerful people were willing to kill to protect this secret.”
That silenced me.
Elena softened.
“Claire, bravery doesn't require stupidity.”
I looked away.
She was right.
But waiting felt unbearable.
At 3:40, I received a call from an unfamiliar number.
“Is this Claire Hartwell?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Hannah Reed. I'm a nurse.”
I sat up.
“Where do you work?”
A hesitation.
“Valence.”
My heart quickened.
“Which facility?”
“Building Four.”
I looked at Elena.
She immediately opened a notepad.
“Hannah, how did you get my number?”
“Your father gave it to me.”
I froze.
“My father died last year.”
“I know.”
There was a soft sound in the background.
A closing door.
Hannah lowered her voice.
“He told me that if anything happened to him, I should contact you. But I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of losing my license. My job. My freedom.”
“Why would that happen?”
“Because I helped keep records that should never have been altered.”
Elena mouthed, Keep her talking.
I switched the call to speakerphone.
“What records?”
“Patient records.”
“Patient Sixteen?”
Silence.
Then Hannah whispered, “You know about her?”
“Only that she matters.”
A shaky breath.
“Patient Sixteen was your father's last major concern.”
“Why?”
“Because she died.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“When?”
“Eleven months ago.”
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“Before or after my father?”
“Before.”
“How long before?”
“Four days.”
I looked at Elena.
Her face had gone still.
“What happened to her?”
Hannah's voice broke.
“They said it was a complication. But the paperwork wasn't right. Her consent forms had been changed, and the device identifiers didn't match what we actually used.”
“What device?”
“A surgical navigation system.”
Hartwell manufactured surgical navigation systems.
My stomach dropped.
“Which model?”
“HNS-400.”
I knew that model.
I had supervised a quality improvement project involving its safety software.
It was one of our most carefully regulated products.
“What was wrong with it?”
“I don't know whether the device itself was defective. But there was a modified software package in the testing environment, and nobody would tell me who approved it.”
“Who was in charge?”
“Dr. Alan Breck was the medical director.”
My father's cardiologist.
The man who received four hundred thousand dollars after Dad died.
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Hannah continued.
“Your father visited the facility after Patient Sixteen died. He demanded the original records.”
“What happened?”
“They argued.”
“Who?”
“Your father and a man named Charles Voss.”
The same man tied to Meridian and Blackridge.
“Did Dad get the records?”
“I don't know. But he told me something before he left.”
“What?”
Hannah began crying quietly.
“He said if the records were destroyed, the next patient might die too.”
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
My father had spent his final days trying to stop people from being hurt.
Not protecting his fortune.
Not protecting his reputation.
Protecting patients.
“Where are you now?” I asked.
“I'm not safe.”
“Can you reach the police?”
“They have people watching the building.”
“Then stay where you are and let me connect you with Detective Vance.”
A sharp noise sounded on the line.
Hannah stopped speaking.
“Hannah?”
Nothing.
Then a man's voice.
“Who are you talking to?”
The phone disconnected.
Nora organized a response immediately.
I gave her Hannah's number, the facility address, and everything she had told me.
Investigators coordinated with federal agents already examining Valence.
I wasn't permitted to accompany them.
I paced Elena's conference room for nearly two hours.
At 6:12, Nora called.
“We found Hannah.”
I stopped.
“Is she okay?”
“Yes. Frightened, but safe.”
I closed my eyes.
“Thank God.”
“She was hiding in a supply room. She's agreed to provide a statement.”
“Did you find Patient Sixteen's records?”
“Not yet.”
“Where's Charles Voss?”
“We're looking.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Was there anything else?”
Nora hesitated.
“We found evidence that someone attempted to destroy part of the facility's document archive.”
“Did they succeed?”
“Not completely.”
My pulse quickened.
“What survived?”
“A partial patient index.”
“Does it identify Patient Sixteen?”
“Yes.”
I waited.
Nora's voice became careful.
“Claire, we need to verify the information before sharing more.”
“Tell me the name.”
“Claire—”
“Please.”
A long silence followed.
Then Nora said, “The index identifies Patient Sixteen as Lauren Mercer.”
I frowned.
“Mercer?”
“Yes.”
I thought of the photograph from Dad's storage locker.
Dr. Evelyn Mercer.
The engineer who had helped build Hartwell.
The woman whose work had supposedly been stolen twenty years earlier.
“Is she related to Evelyn Mercer?”
“We believe she was her daughter.”
I sat down.
“Her daughter?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the photograph on the table.
Dad standing beside Evelyn.
Both smiling beside the first surgical stabilizer.
A woman erased from the company's history.
Her daughter dead after a procedure involving Hartwell equipment.
And my father killed four days later.
I swallowed.
“Why would Dad be investigating her death?”
Nora paused.
“Because we found a handwritten note in Lauren's medical file.”
“What did it say?”
“It said your father had requested immediate disclosure of every device used during her procedure.”
I waited.
Nora continued.
“And beneath that request was a second note.”
“From whom?”
“Your father.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did he write?”
May you like
Nora read the words slowly.
I PROMISED HER MOTHER I WOULD NEVER LET THIS HAPPEN AGAIN.
