Chapter 3 - THE DOCTOR WHO KNEW TOO QUICKLY
Dr. Reeves entered the south guest suite furious.
He did not ask how Jacob felt.
He did not ask whether Jonah had slept.
His first words were:
“Who moved them?”
I was sitting beside Jonah.
Nathan stood near the windows.
“I did.”
Reeves stopped.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Nathan looked at me.
The doctor followed his eyes.
Of course.
“This woman.”
“My name is Emily.”
“I remember.”
“Then use it.”
His nostrils flared.
Nathan almost smiled.
Almost.
Reeves walked toward the beds.
“This is medically irresponsible.”
I stood.
“Why?”
“Because their routine is controlled.”
“What medical treatment requires these particular bedrooms?”
“That is not what I said.”
“Then moving bedrooms should not matter.”
He looked at Nathan.
“Why is household help interrogating me?”
Nathan’s expression turned cold.
“Because she noticed something.”
“What?”
“A smell.”
Reeves froze.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But I saw it.
Nathan did too.
“What smell?” Reeves asked.
I watched him carefully.
“I thought you said moving them was irresponsible before you knew why we moved them.”
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t play games.”
“I’m not.”
Nathan stepped closer.
“Malcolm.”
The doctor looked at him.
“Why did you receive a ventilation alert?”
Reeves’s face changed again.
“I didn’t.”
“Mrs. Bennett said you told the gate.”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
“You arrived at seven in the morning because of a misunderstanding?”
Reeves picked up Jonah’s chart.
“The monitoring system sends environmental data to my office.”
“What environmental data?”
“Temperature. Humidity.”
“Air chemistry?”
Silence.
Nathan’s voice dropped.
“Air chemistry?”
Reeves closed the folder.
“Some.”
“For how long?”
“Months.”
Nathan’s face went frighteningly still.
“And you never told me?”
“There was nothing clinically relevant.”
I stepped forward.
“Then show us.”
Reeves turned toward me.
“This does not concern you.”
Nathan spoke.
“It does now.”
The doctor stared at him.
“Have you forgotten who has managed these children’s care for the last year?”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“I have consulted nationally recognized specialists.”
“And none solved it.”
“I prevented them from deteriorating faster.”
Jonah looked frightened.
I immediately moved closer to his bed.
Nathan saw.
His tone changed.
“Outside.”
Reeves protested.
Nathan didn’t.
“Now.”
We went to the office downstairs.
Nathan closed the door.
I remained because he told me to.
Reeves hated that.
Nathan opened his laptop.
“Show me the system.”
“I don’t carry building diagnostics.”
“You have remote access.”
The doctor went silent.
Nathan leaned across the desk.
“You arrived because ventilation stopped.”
Slowly, Reeves removed his phone.
He opened an application I had never seen.
There were graphs.
Numbers.
Airflow.
Pressure.
Temperature.
Then another category.
VOC INDEX.
I did not pretend expertise I didn’t have.
“What does that stand for?”
“Volatile organic compounds,” Reeves said.
Nathan stared.
“Meaning?”
“Certain airborne chemicals.”
My stomach tightened.
“What levels are normal?”
Reeves hesitated.
Nathan noticed.
“Answer.”
“They fluctuate.”
“That is not an answer.”
Reeves zoomed out.
The east wing graph showed spikes.
Night after night.
Small.
Repeated.
Almost always between ten p.m. and five a.m.
Nathan stopped breathing.
“What is that?”
“Old building materials.”
“Only in my sons’ wing?”
“This mansion has unusual airflow.”
“And the south wing?”
Lower.
Much lower.
I looked at Nathan.
He looked murderous.
Reeves immediately said, “Those readings do not establish toxicity.”
“No,” I said. “But they establish that the rooms are different.”
He glared.
Nathan asked, “When did you first see this?”
“Recently.”
“How recently?”
“Six months.”
Nathan’s face changed.
The boys had been sick for two years.
Reeves had known there was something unusual in the air for six months.
Six months in which Nathan had paid for scans.
Blood tests.
Specialists.
Experimental consultations.
All while environmental data sat on his doctor’s phone.
“Why didn’t you investigate?”
“I did.”
“Where are the reports?”
“They were inconclusive.”
“Show me.”
Reeves’s breathing changed.
Nathan reached for his phone.
“Marco.”
The doctor stepped forward.
“Wait.”
Nathan stopped.
Reeves looked at me.
Then him.
“This house contains areas you told me were not to be examined.”
There.
The room became silent.
Nathan lowered the phone.
“What areas?”
Reeves almost laughed.
“You know exactly what.”
I looked at Nathan.
His eyes shifted away.
The hidden room.
He sat behind the desk.
“Emily.”
“What is beneath the boys’ wing?”
He didn’t answer.
“Nathan.”
Reeves smirked.
Now he believed he had regained control.
Nathan hated being cornered.
I could see that.
Finally, he said, “A secure underground level.”
“How large?”
“Larger than the panic room I mentioned.”
“How much larger?”
“Most of the east foundation.”
I stared.
“What is inside?”
“Records.”
Reeves laughed.
Nathan’s eyes snapped toward him.
“Old records,” Nathan continued. “Equipment. Emergency generators. Storage.”
“What kind of storage?”
No answer.
I suddenly understood.
“You refused to let doctors inspect it.”
“It contains family materials.”
“Meaning criminal evidence?”
His expression hardened.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Reeves folded his arms.
“This is precisely why broad environmental testing was impossible.”
I turned.
“Then why didn’t you insist?”
“I did.”
Nathan looked at him.
“No, you didn’t.”
Reeves blinked.
“You told me environmental testing was unnecessary.”
The doctor’s composure slipped.
Nathan continued.
“You told me the boys had a likely mitochondrial disorder.”
“At the time—”
“Then an autoimmune condition.”
“Symptoms evolve.”
“Then chronic post-viral syndrome.”
“All plausible.”
“Everything except the room beneath their beds.”
Silence.
Nathan stood.
“Open the lower level.”
Reeves shook his head.
“You need specialized investigators.”
“I’ll get them.”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
All three of us heard it.
Nathan slowly turned.
“Why not?”
Reeves stared.
Then recovered.
“Because disturbing old storage could increase exposure.”
A reasonable sentence.
From a man who seemed far too frightened.
I asked, “What exactly do you think is down there?”
Reeves looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
I didn’t believe him.
Nathan didn’t either.
He called Marco.
“Seal the east wing. Nobody enters the lower level.”
Reeves relaxed slightly.
Then Nathan continued.
“Get an independent environmental team.”
The doctor’s face went pale.
“Nathan.”
“Not one you recommend.”
“Nathan, listen to me.”
“No.”
“Some things in that level could create legal exposure.”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed.
“You sound more worried about my legal problems than my sons.”
Reeves said nothing.
That was the second important silence.
The independent team arrived that afternoon.
Not ordinary contractors.
Industrial hygienists.
Environmental engineers.
A physician specializing in occupational exposure.
Nathan allowed them access only after every person signed agreements that probably contained more threats than most constitutions.
I watched from the hallway.
At 4:36 p.m., the lead investigator came upstairs.
Her name was Dr. Priya Shah.
She removed her protective mask.
“Mr. Coleman?”
Nathan stood.
“What?”
“We found a probable source.”
My heart jumped.
“What?” I asked.
Dr. Shah looked toward the floor.
“There is a concealed mechanical passage directly beneath the twins’ bedrooms.”
Nathan nodded.
“It feeds the emergency ventilation network.”
His face changed.
“It shouldn’t.”
“It does.”
“How?”
“Someone rerouted it.”
Silence.
Dr. Shah continued.
“There are containers stored in the lower maintenance chamber. Several are damaged. We’re not making a medical diagnosis tonight, but there are airborne compounds down there that should not be entering occupied bedrooms.”
Nathan went pale.
“Containers of what?”
“Old industrial solvents and maintenance chemicals.”
He looked confused.
“I ordered that room cleared years ago.”
Dr. Shah studied him.
“It wasn’t cleared.”
I looked at Reeves.
Sweat had appeared along his hairline.
Nathan saw it.
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
Dr. Shah interrupted.
“There’s more.”
Nathan turned.
“The damaged containers are old.”
She paused.
“But the duct modification is not.”
“How recent?”
“We’ll need exact dating.”
“Estimate.”
“Less than three years.”
Rebecca died three years ago.
The boys’ symptoms began months later.
Nathan looked toward Dr. Reeves.
The doctor backed away.
“You’re making connections without evidence.”
Nathan’s voice dropped.
“Then help me understand the evidence.”
Reeves shook his head.
“Call your lawyer.”
“I don’t need a lawyer to ask why someone rerouted contaminated air into my children’s bedrooms.”
Then Marco entered.
He carried a folder.
“Boss.”
Nathan turned.
“What?”
“We checked the renovation invoices from after Mrs. Coleman died.”
“And?”
Marco looked at Reeves.
“The ventilation contractor was paid through a company called Meridian Medical Consulting.”
Reeves said nothing.
Nathan’s expression became lethal.
“Who owns it?”
May you like
Marco answered.
“Dr. Malcolm Reeves.”
