Chapter 4 - SIX PEOPLE HAD DIED BECAUSE OF A FAILED FREEZER
I remembered the incident.
Everyone in the industry did.
Eighteen years earlier, a temperature-control failure at a private biologics warehouse ruined hundreds of doses of a rare cardiac medication.
Six patients later died after treatment delays.
The warehouse blamed equipment failure.
Bellacort paid a settlement.
My father never discussed it.
I had been twenty-one.
Still in graduate school.
Still believing my father was simply a difficult businessman.
Cassie lowered her voice.
“My dad said the freezer didn’t fail.”
“What did?”
“The paperwork.”
I felt the room narrow.
She explained.
Walter had discovered that the warehouse temperature logs were being altered.
Medication had been stored outside safe range long before the official failure.
Someone wanted Walter to certify the refrigeration system so insurance would blame equipment.
He refused.
Then he was fired.
“Why didn’t he go public?”
“He tried.”
Cassie looked ashamed.
“Then my mom got sick.”
Medical bills.
Lawyers.
Threats.
No money.
The complaint disappeared.
Her mother died four years later.
Walter never worked in medical refrigeration again.
I sat very still.
“Does he have proof?”
“I don’t know.”
Gordon appeared.
Cassie immediately straightened.
He looked at me.
“You again.”
“I liked the pasta.”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“I also like Tuesdays.”
Cassie turned away so he wouldn’t see her smile.
Gordon’s eyes narrowed.
After dinner, Cassie followed me outside.
Snow had started.
She hugged her coat closed.
“You should stop coming here.”
“Why?”
“Because Gordon noticed you.”
“I’m hard to miss.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She looked tired.
“Men always think they can fix things.”
“I repair refrigeration.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
She rolled her eyes.
Then her expression softened.
“I don’t need saving.”
“Good.”
That surprised her.
“What?”
“I said good.”
She stared at me.
“I’m not offering to save you.”
“Then what are you offering?”
“Information.”
I took out a business card.
Not mine.
A Bellacort technician’s card Marco had arranged.
“I know someone who can check whether Gordon’s numbers are real.”
Cassie did not take it.
“Why?”
“Because twenty-eight thousand dollars should have paperwork.”
She finally took the card.
Our fingers touched briefly.
Neither of us commented.
Then a black sedan pulled up across the street.
My security team.
Too close.
Cassie noticed it.
“That yours?”
“No.”
Technically true.
She looked suspicious.
The sedan drove away.
Then Cassie’s phone rang.
Her face changed.
“Dad?”
Silence.
“What happened?”
She turned pale.
“I’m coming.”
She ran toward the subway entrance.
I caught up.
“Cassie.”
“My dad collapsed.”
“Where?”
“Queens.”
I took out my phone.
She stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting a car.”
“I can take the train.”
“It’ll take an hour.”
A black SUV appeared within forty seconds.
Cassie stopped.
Her eyes moved from the vehicle to me.
“You said that wasn’t yours.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then whose is it?”
“Friend’s.”
Marco opened the door from inside.
Cassie stared at his suit.
His earpiece.
Then at me.
For the first time, suspicion replaced warmth.
But her father needed help.
She got in.
At the hospital, doctors stabilized Walter.
His implanted cardiac device had malfunctioned.
The model number caught my attention.
Bellacort had transported that batch.
I called compliance from the hallway.
The answer came ten minutes later.
Walter’s device had been subject to a manufacturer safety notice.
Patients were supposed to be contacted six weeks earlier.
Walter never received the notice.
May you like
Because someone had removed his name from the notification list.
And the employee login used to do it belonged to my uncle Thomas.
