Chapter 2 - CLARE’S HUSBAND DIED AFTER REPORTING THE SAME BATCH
Nobody entered the conference room that night.
Dominic sent the council home.
Arthur objected.
Dominic ignored him.
Then the estate went into lockdown—not the theatrical kind with shouting men and weapons, but the quieter version Dominic preferred.
Access logs preserved.
Medical records copied.
Cameras backed up.
Nobody erased anything.
Dr. Mercer took the brace to an independent orthopedic laboratory.
Clare sat in Dominic’s library with Ellie asleep against her shoulder.
Vincent stood near the fireplace.
“Tell us about Aaron.”
Clare looked at Ellie first.
Then began.
Her husband had worked at Halcyon Orthotics for nine years.
Eighteen months earlier, the company received a large contract to manufacture post-operative knee braces for a rehabilitation network in Chicago.
Aaron noticed something wrong.
Several production lots used substitute hardware.
Cheaper locking tabs.
Different polymer supports.
Not necessarily dangerous by themselves.
But the certification sheets still listed the original approved components.
“He reported it internally,” Clare said.
“What happened?”
“He was told procurement had authorized an emergency substitution.”
“Had they?”
“He didn’t think so.”
Aaron copied batch numbers into a notebook.
One was printed on Dominic’s brace.
Three weeks later, Aaron died when his car left an icy road outside Evanston.
Police classified it as an accident.
Clare had accepted that.
Almost.
“He was exhausted,” she whispered. “He worked nights. It was snowing.”
Dominic watched her carefully.
“But?”
“The notebook disappeared.”
“From the car?”
“From our apartment.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“When?”
“The night after he died.”
Clare came home from identifying Aaron’s belongings and found the office drawer open.
Nothing valuable missing.
Laptop still there.
Cash untouched.
Only Aaron’s notebook gone.
She never reported it because she had no proof the notebook existed.
And because she had a four-year-old daughter—then barely three—to protect.
Dominic asked:
“How did you end up working here?”
“An agency.”
“You didn’t know Halcyon supplied my clinic?”
“No.”
That answer sounded honest.
Then Dr. Mercer called.
Preliminary findings:
Dominic’s brace contained hardware from the same disputed lot.
But that was not the worst part.
The brace had been modified after manufacture.
Two pressure pads had been repositioned.
One strap had been re-threaded.
And a small limiting stop controlling knee extension had been adjusted beyond the setting in Dominic’s rehabilitation orders.
Someone had made the brace mechanically different from what his surgeon prescribed.
“Could this have permanently damaged me?” Dominic asked.
“We need imaging.”
“Could it make me appear to be recovering badly?”
Lena paused.
“Yes.”
That was enough.
Arthur’s vote had been based partly on medical reports describing Dominic’s “progressive functional decline.”
A decline that might have been manufactured.
Then Vincent entered holding an estate-access report.
Only four people had routinely handled Dominic’s brace.
Dominic.
His physical therapist, Martin Sloane.
A rehabilitation nurse.
And Vincent himself once, when carrying Dominic upstairs after a severe pain episode.
Arthur never touched it.
At least not according to anyone.
Then Vincent pointed at one line.
Martin Sloane had entered the estate six times on days Dominic did not have scheduled therapy.
Security recorded him as:
MEDICAL EQUIPMENT ADJUSTMENT.
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Who authorized those visits?
Arthur Voss.
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