Chapter 12
“That isn't possible.”
“Why?”
“Because those sections were never digitized.”
Samuel looked at me.
“That is precisely why I'm concerned.”
I turned toward Daniel.
The implication was simple.
Someone had used research from notebooks everyone believed were lost.
Research that, until recently, I did not even know still existed.
“Who had access?” Daniel asked.
Samuel answered.
“Originally? Iris. Thomas. Jason. Several university researchers.”
“And later?”
“That's the question.”
The discovery led us somewhere I had not expected.
Not into Jason's office.
Into mine.
Two days later, I returned to Mitchell Medical Technologies for the first time since filing for divorce.
A court order allowed my attorneys to review specified archives.
The headquarters occupied six floors of glass and steel overlooking the river.
I had selected the first lobby furniture.
I had approved the employee wellness room.
I had argued that the safety laboratory should have windows because people made worse decisions after ten hours under fluorescent lights.
Walking inside felt like entering a house after someone had changed all the locks.
Employees pretended not to stare.
Some nodded.
A few smiled.
One woman from compliance hugged me before remembering we were surrounded by lawyers.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Don't be.”
Her eyes filled.
“We miss you.”
That nearly broke me.
Not the mansion.
Not the accounts.
Not the cars.
That.
Being missed somewhere I had been told I barely mattered.
Daniel's team worked through archived records.
I walked to my old office.
The nameplate had been removed.
Inside, the shelves were bare.
On the wall remained a small pinhole where my father's photograph used to hang.
I stood there longer than I intended.
Then someone spoke behind me.
“I kept it.”
I turned.
Ethan Mitchell stood in the doorway.
Jason's younger brother.
I had not seen him in almost a year.
At forty-one, Ethan looked like Jason might have looked if ambition had never become his favorite language. Same dark eyes. Same narrow face. But Ethan had always been quieter.
He worked in hospital administration in Boston and had never joined the company.
In his hand was my father's photograph.
“You took it?”
“I was here after Jason had your office cleared.”
“Why?”
“Because throwing Thomas Bennett's picture into a storage box felt wrong.”
He handed it to me.
“Thank you.”
Ethan nodded.
Then neither of us knew what to say.
Finally he asked, “How are you?”
I almost gave the polite answer.