Chapter 8: My Daughter's Accusation
I stopped three feet from my daughter.
The gun shook in her hands.
Ava had never held a firearm before. I knew because I'd spent years teaching her to be cautious around anything dangerous, even the antique hunting rifle locked in my father's old cabinet.
Yet here she stood, pointing a pistol directly at my heart.
"Sweetheart," I said gently, "put the gun down.""
"Don't call me that.""
The words struck harder than the weapon.
I raised my hands slowly.
"Ava, look at me.""
She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"You lied to me.""
"I never wanted to hurt you.""
"You told me Mom died because her cancer got worse.""
"That's what I believed.""
"You told me you were with her when she died.""
"I was.""
Ava's grip tightened.
"Then why does the video show you giving her the injection?""
Behind me, Morgan moved quietly toward the side wall.
Ava noticed.
"Tell her to stop!""
Morgan froze.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Ava.""
"You don't know what happened!"" Ava shouted.
"Nobody knows what happened except the people who were there!""
I swallowed hard.
"Then tell me what you know.""
Ava's eyes darted toward the ceiling speaker.
A faint click sounded.
Whitmore was listening.
She lowered her voice.
"Mom told me everything before she died.""
My heart twisted.
"She spoke to you?""
"Yes.""
"When?""
"The night she died. Before they took me out of her room.""
I stared at her.
"You were there?""
Ava nodded.
"I woke up because I heard Mom crying. I went into her room, and you were standing beside her bed.""
The memory hit me in fragments.
Ava's pink blanket.
Rachel's hand.
A voice telling me to sign something.
I pressed my fingers against my temples.
"I don't remember that.""
"Of course you don't."" Ava laughed bitterly.
"You don't remember anything that makes you look bad.""
I took a careful step forward.
She raised the gun.
"Don't!""
I stopped immediately.
"Okay. I won't move.""
Ava's breathing came in short, painful bursts.
"Mom told me someone had been changing her medication. She said she didn't know whether you were involved. She said she loved you, but she was afraid of you.""
The room seemed to tilt.
"Afraid of me?""
"She said you weren't acting like yourself. You forgot conversations. You got angry over things you couldn't remember. She thought someone was drugging you.""
Morgan looked at me.
I saw the same realization forming in her eyes.
The photograph of me sitting in the hospital chair.
The IV line.
The missing eight minutes.
I had not been a patient in the trial.
I had been a subject.
Someone had been testing a drug on me, too.
"Ava," I said carefully, "did your mother tell you who was doing this?""
She nodded.
"She said it was someone who had access to both of you.""
My eyes shifted toward Mark.
He stood near the server console, pale and motionless.
Ava followed my gaze.
Then she screamed.
"Don't look at him! He was there, too!""
Mark flinched.
"Ava, I'm sorry.""
"You were holding the bottle!""
His face crumpled.
"I didn't know what was inside.""
"You told Mom it was medicine!""
"I thought it was.""
"Then why did you run away when she started screaming?""
Mark lowered his head.
"I was afraid.""
Ava laughed through her tears.
"Mom was dying, and you were afraid?""
He had no answer.
I looked at him, and something inside me hardened.
"Why did you give me that injection?""
Mark's eyes widened.
"I didn't give you anything.""
Ava shook her head.
"You don't remember because they made you forget.""
She lowered the gun by an inch.
"Mom told me the injection wasn't meant for her. It was meant for you.""
Morgan moved closer, careful not to startle her.
"What do you mean?""
Ava looked at the agent.
"They were testing something that made people confused. They wanted Dad to sign documents and do things he couldn't remember afterward. Mom found out and tried to stop them.""
My throat tightened.
"And the night she died?""
Ava looked down at the gun.
"Mom said they were going to make it look like Dad killed her. She said if anything happened, I had to keep the bracelet safe because it had proof of what they did.""
"Did she tell you where the original authorization was?""
Ava shook her head.
"No. She said the paper inside the bracelet would lead to the original.""
Morgan frowned.
"That's not what Whitmore said.""
Ava's eyes filled again.
"Because he doesn't have the whole bracelet.""
I stared at her.
"What?""
She lowered the gun completely.
"The bracelet has two compartments. Mom showed me when she gave it to me. One contains a paper. The other contains a tiny memory card.""
I remembered Whitmore holding up the bracelet on the video.
He had opened a small compartment.
He had shown us a folded strip of paper.
He had never shown the second one.
"Where is the memory card?"" I asked.
Ava looked toward the dark corridor behind her.
"I hid it before they took me.""
"Where?""
"In the only place Mom said they'd never search.""
A loud metallic crash sounded from the corridor.
Then Whitmore's voice came over the speaker.
"That's enough, Ava.""
Ava flinched.
The gun slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
Two men in black tactical clothing emerged from the hallway. One seized her by the arm while the other aimed a weapon at Morgan.
Morgan drew her own gun.
"FBI! Drop your weapons!""
The first man shoved Ava in front of him.
"Put it down, Agent.""
Morgan hesitated.
Ava screamed.
"Dad, don't let them take me!""
I lunged forward, but the second man struck me across the face with the butt of his weapon.
I hit the floor.
The room spun.
Through blurred vision, I saw Mark charging the man holding Ava. They collided against a filing cabinet, sending papers flying.
A shot rang out.
Mark collapsed.
"MARK!""
Morgan fired twice.
The second guard fell behind the console.
The first man dragged Ava through the corridor and disappeared.
I scrambled to my feet.
Morgan knelt beside Mark.
Blood spread across his shirt.
"Stay with me," she ordered, pressing her hand against the wound.
Mark coughed.
"Get Ava.""
Morgan looked toward the corridor.
"Daniel, go!""
I ran.
The hallway stretched ahead, lit by emergency lamps. At the far end, a door slammed shut.
I reached it and found a stairwell leading upward.
Outside, tires screeched.
I burst through the exit just in time to see a black SUV speed away from the building.
Ava was inside.
I shouted her name until my throat burned.
Then I saw something lying beside the curb.
A small silver object.
I picked it up.
Rachel's bracelet.
The clasp had been broken, and one of the compartments hung open.
Inside was a tiny folded paper.
I unfolded it with shaking fingers.
Three words were written in Rachel's handwriting.
*TRUST THE DAUGHTER.*
Beneath them was a string of numbers.
I stared at the sequence.
It looked like a date.
October 14.
The night Rachel died.
Then I noticed a second line.
A room number.
*317.*
Morgan appeared behind me, one hand pressed against her side.
"Daniel, we need to leave. The building is compromised.""
I showed her the paper.
She stared at the numbers.
"Room 317?""
"That's what it says.""
Morgan took out her phone and searched the hospital records.
A moment later, her face went rigid.
"Room 317 was a restricted isolation room at the original hospital.""
"What does that mean?""
"It means the official floor plans don't show it.""
I looked back at the research center.
"How do we find it?""
Morgan's phone rang.
She answered, listened for several seconds, and then slowly lowered it.
"What is it?"" I asked.
"The team found Mark's vehicle outside the building. The blood on his shirt wasn't his.""
"Then whose was it?""
She looked at me.
"Patricia's.""
My stomach dropped.
"She's dead?""
"We don't know. But the blood matches her DNA.""
I stared at Rachel's bracelet.
Everything was connected.
The hospital. The research center. The missing evidence. My daughter.
And someone was moving the pieces faster than we could follow.
Morgan grabbed my arm.
"Daniel, there's something else.""
She showed me a message from the FBI's internal alert system.
A photograph of Patricia appeared on the screen.
Underneath it was a warning.
*WITNESS COMPROMISED. POSSIBLE DOUBLE AGENT. DO NOT APPROACH WITHOUT BACKUP.*
I looked toward the road where Ava's SUV had disappeared.
Then my phone buzzed.
A new video.
Ava sat in a different room, her hands tied again.
This time, she was not alone.
Patricia sat beside her, pale and shaking, a bandage wrapped around her forearm.
A man stood behind them.
He held a syringe.
"Daniel," Whitmore said, looking directly into the camera, "you have one hour to bring me the original authorization.""
He lifted the syringe.
"Otherwise, your daughter will receive the same treatment your wife did.""
Ava looked into the camera.
Her lips moved silently.
I leaned closer.
She mouthed two words.
*Room three-seventeen.*
May you like
Then Whitmore pressed the syringe against Patricia's neck.
And the video ended.
