Chapter 8 - The Husband Who Tried to Sell the Names of Sick Children
Catherine did not call Victor. She called Agent Brooks.
“The list contains private medical information,” she said. “If it is sold, those families may be threatened.”
Brooks listened without interrupting. “Do you know who contacted you?”
“No.”
“Forward the message. Do not arrange a meeting.”
Catherine complied. She had spent her adult life solving problems by moving faster than everyone else. Now she had to accept that restraint could protect people better than speed.
The investigators traced Victor’s contact to a broker in New Jersey. The broker was already cooperating in an unrelated financial case. Within two days, Brooks had enough to seek an order protecting the records and preventing further disclosure. Victor was questioned, and his lawyers negotiated conditions that kept him away from the patient data while the investigation continued.
When Catherine next saw him, it was in family court. Their divorce had become unavoidable. Victor had contested the property settlement and accused her of concealing assets, but the financial disclosures revealed that he had hidden substantial liabilities of his own.
He looked at her across the corridor. “We could have been unstoppable together.”
“We could have been kind to each other,” she said. “That would have been enough for me once.”
His eyes narrowed. “You think you’re better than I am.”
“No. I think I am responsible for my choices. You are responsible for yours.”
Chloe arrived with her attorney. She had agreed to cooperate with the investigation and had given prosecutors the original tablet, account statements, and records of Mercer’s meetings. She stopped beside Catherine.
“I used to think you were pretending not to care,” Chloe said.
“I cared,” Catherine replied. “Just not about winning him.”
Chloe looked down. “I’m sorry for what I did at the gala.”
Catherine accepted the apology without offering friendship. Some doors could close peacefully without opening again.
The hearing lasted less than an hour. The judge set a timetable for the remaining financial issues. Catherine left the courthouse feeling lighter, though nothing was officially finished.
That afternoon, Nadia reported that Irina had requested counsel and agreed to speak with federal investigators. Catherine did not ask what she intended to say. She had promised herself not to interfere.
At Harbor Relief, the independent board began processing claims from families affected by the counterfeit medications. Catherine attended as an observer, not a decision-maker. Rosa had been appointed as a patient representative. She sat at the head of the table with a notebook full of questions.
“Why are there six signatures on every reimbursement?” Rosa demanded.
The administrator began explaining compliance procedures.
“Then simplify them,” Rosa said. “People need help this month, not after a committee learns how to use a printer.”
Catherine hid a smile. Rosa was doing exactly what the board needed.
Later, Mikhail asked Catherine to dinner. He brought Amara. The two of them had grown close while reviewing clinic records, and Catherine noticed the way her brother listened when Amara spoke.
“You approve?” he asked afterward.
“She doesn’t seem impressed by your medical degree.”
“She says I leave coffee cups everywhere.”
“Then I adore her.”
For a few minutes, life felt ordinary.
Then Kensington called. The prosecution had uncovered a transfer from Mercer’s political foundation to an offshore trust. The trust had paid for the supposed warehouse accident that killed Dr. Ward.
The trustee’s signature belonged to Victor Costello.
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Catherine stood in her kitchen, staring at the rain beyond the window. The man who had ordered her to serve his mistress had not merely looked away from suffering. Evidence now suggested he had helped conceal a death.
And the truth would have to survive a courtroom, not a ballroom.
