Chapter 8 - THE NAME JULIAN FEARED
Chloe had not run away voluntarily.
We learned that three hours later.
Her attorney received a scheduled email containing four words:
IF I DISAPPEAR, JULIAN KNOWS.
Attached was a photograph of a document.
A medical consent form.
The signature looked like Chloe’s.
She swore in the email that it wasn’t.
The form authorized an emergency fetal procedure at a private clinic in New Hampshire.
No hospital record showed Chloe had ever arrived there.
No ambulance transport existed.
No physician had reported treating her.
Yet the traffic camera showed her leaving Rhode Island beside Halpern.
The FBI became involved before midnight.
Julian was questioned for seven hours.
When he emerged, reporters surrounded him.
He said nothing.
But his mother did.
Eleanor Mercer stepped onto the courthouse stairs wearing pearls and a cream coat.
She looked directly into the cameras.
“My son is the victim of a vindictive former wife and a disgraced lawman obsessed with destroying our family.”
Garrison watched from my television.
“Disgraced?”
I asked.
He almost smiled.
“Richard liked that word.”
The next morning, Eleanor’s lawyers demanded Garrison’s sealed personnel files.
That was a mistake.
Because it forced prosecutors to reveal enough of his background to establish his credibility.
By lunchtime, every news station in the state was talking about him.
Garrison Blackwood had not merely served as Cedar Hollow sheriff.
Before returning home, he had spent twelve years attached to a joint federal task force investigating organized healthcare fraud, public corruption, and financial crimes.
He had received two Justice Department commendations.
He had testified before Congress under seal.
And the Blackbird investigation had resulted in twenty-one convictions unrelated to the Mercer branch of the case.
Julian’s family had not been facing a lonely retired sheriff.
They had been living across the street from the man who had once built the case that nearly destroyed them.
But there was one more fact the news discovered.
Blackwood was not just his last name.
Garrison’s grandfather had founded Blackwood Medical Foundation, one of the largest private medical research charities in New England.
Garrison had inherited voting control after his father died.
The foundation helped fund the Boston institute treating me.
Suddenly, every person who had mocked his old farmhouse wanted to photograph it.
Julian finally understood why Garrison had been able to make one phone call and arrange a consultation with doctors I thought I could never afford.
The “lonely sheriff” was a man worth tens of millions.
He simply lived like none of it mattered.
Julian confronted us outside court.
“You think money makes you righteous?”
Garrison barely looked at him.
“No.”
“Then what makes you think you can judge me?”
“The evidence.”
Julian laughed bitterly.
“You always loved evidence.”
“You always hated it.”
Julian stepped closer.
“You ruined my father.”
Garrison’s eyes hardened.
“Your father ruined himself.”
“He died because of you.”
“Your father died of a stroke.”
“After you destroyed him.”
Garrison leaned closer.
“Richard Mercer paid people to alter medical records and manufacture heirs.”
Julian’s face changed.
Not anger.
Recognition.
Garrison saw it.
“So you do know.”
Julian said nothing.
I stepped forward.
“Where is Chloe?”
His eyes flicked toward me.
“Ask your hero.”
“What did Halpern do to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Liar.”
Julian smiled.
It was ugly.
“You still think this is about me.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
His attorney pulled him away.
But Julian twisted back.
“Ask Blackwood why your name was in Beacon’s files before we ever met.”
Everything stopped.
Garrison stared at him.
I could not breathe.
“What?”
Julian smiled wider.
“There it is.”
He pointed at Garrison.
“The face he makes when he knows something you don’t.”
I turned toward Garrison.
“My name was in Beacon’s files before Julian?”
“I never saw that.”
Julian laughed.
“You didn’t look far enough.”
The FBI agent beside us stepped forward.
“Mr. Mercer, stop talking.”
But Julian was enjoying himself now.
“Tell her about patient B-17.”
I felt cold.
“I was B-17?”
Julian shook his head.
“No.”
May you like
Then his smile disappeared.
“Your mother was.”
