Chapter 13 - The Accountant Who Kept the Dead Company Alive on Paper

Thomas Vale chose an old parish rectory on the South Side.

Agent Velez insisted on running the approach.

I insisted on entering first.

We compromised by doing neither.

An elderly priest opened the door and told us Thomas was in the basement.

“He has cancer,” the priest said. “Pancreatic. He has weeks, maybe days.”

“Is he alone?”

“He asked to be.”

Velez sent two agents down before us.

No weapons.

No trap.

Thomas lay on a narrow cot beneath a blanket, thinner than his old personnel photographs suggested.

He looked at me and smiled.

“Victor’s boy.”

“I’m forty-two.”

“Still his boy.”

I sat.

Velez remained standing.

Thomas’s eyes moved to her badge.

“Federal.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He pointed toward a canvas bag.

Inside were paper ledgers.

Actual paper.

My father had taught me that digital records could be altered remotely.

Apparently Thomas had learned the lesson too.

Velez opened the first book.

Payments.

Shell companies.

Research invoices.

Political contributions.

Private security retainers.

Then a page marked ORPHEUS.

Two coded entries matched the twins’ embryo identifiers.

JM-01.

BM-02.

Beside each was a cost figure large enough to buy a city block.

I looked at Thomas.

“My father paid this?”

“He approved it.”

“Why?”

“Your mother.”

Genevieve’s video had said the same.

Thomas coughed.

“Victor never recovered from losing Evelyn. He funded marrow research first. Legitimate work. Good work. Then Franklin showed him embryo correction. Victor saw a chance to prevent inherited disease before birth.”

“And the line he crossed?”

Thomas gave me a tired smile.

“There is never one line. That’s what men tell themselves afterward.”

Velez turned pages.

“When did Adrian become involved?”

“From the beginning. He understood patents better than grief.”

There it was.

Victor wanted salvation.

Adrian saw ownership.

“What did Genevieve discover?”

“That Halcyon planned to commercialize the editing platform using living children as proof of concept.”

My stomach twisted.

“They were going to expose Jonah and Blythe?”

“Not by name. At first.”

“At first.”

“Adrian wanted tissue, longitudinal data, marrow samples. Franklin resisted public exposure because he knew the off-target defect would destroy the program.”

“So Franklin protected them?”

Thomas shook his head.

“Do not confuse self-interest with mercy.”

Fair.

“What happened the night Genevieve died?”

Thomas looked at Velez.

“I can give you the payment trail.”

“To the person who cut the brake line?”

“Yes.”

My breath stopped.

“Who?”

“Not Franklin.”

“I know.”

“Not Adrian directly either.”

Velez leaned forward.

“Then who authorized the contractor?”

Thomas closed his eyes.

“Victor.”

The room vanished for a second.

My father.

Genevieve’s father-in-law.

The man who held my children at Christmas.

“He ordered her killed?”

Thomas opened his eyes.

“No.”

I wanted to strike him.

“Then choose your words carefully.”

“Victor authorized surveillance and vehicle access. He wanted the stolen material recovered before Genevieve could go to you. Adrian changed the work order.”

Velez understood first.

“He turned a retrieval into sabotage.”

Thomas nodded.

“Victor found out after the crash.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing.”

That was worse.

“He protected Adrian?”

“He protected the family.”

The phrase made me sick.

Thomas reached for water.

His hand shook.

“I helped.”

“Why are you telling us now?”

“My daughter has a little girl.”

Simple.

No speech.

No moral transformation.

A granddaughter.

Enough to make an old man finally understand children were not entries.

Velez photographed every ledger page.

Thomas pointed to the last book.

“That one matters most.”

Inside was a list of storage locations and specimen transfers.

Chen would care about that.

Then I saw another section.

PAYMENT—F. YATES—POST-CRASH CONTAINMENT.

I looked at Thomas.

“For what?”

“He kept Lawson Mercer away from Genevieve before she died.”

My hands tightened.

“Prescott said Victor ordered that.”

“Victor ordered the story controlled. Franklin decided who entered the trauma room.”

Elena had said Genevieve asked for her alone.

“Why block me?”

Thomas looked at me with something like pity.

“Because Genevieve had decided to tell you everything.”

A floorboard creaked above us.

Velez’s head snapped up.

Then two gunshots cracked through the rectory.

Agents moved.

The priest shouted.

Thomas grabbed my sleeve.

“Bag.”

I took the ledgers.

Another shot.

Velez pushed me behind the concrete wall as her team returned fire.

The attack lasted less than a minute.

One gunman escaped through the rear alley.

One was wounded.

Thomas had been hit.

Not by a direct shot.

A bullet came through the ceiling and struck his chest.

Velez called for an ambulance.

Thomas knew.

He pressed a bloody hand over mine.

“Adrian keeps a private archive.”

“Where?”

“Your father’s mausoleum.”

I stared.

“What?”

“He said no Mercer ever looks inside a grave twice.”

His breathing became wet.

“Code?”

Thomas smiled faintly.

“Evelyn’s birthday.”

My mother’s.

Then his grip loosened.

By the time paramedics entered, Thomas Vale was dead.

Velez looked at the blood on the ledgers.

“We have enough to arrest Adrian.”

“No.”

Her eyes hardened.

“Do not tell me what federal prosecutors have enough to do.”

“I mean he knows we found Thomas.”

“So?”

I looked at the canvas bag.

“He’ll go for the archive.”

Velez understood.

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For the first time, she did not tell me to stay behind.

“Then we let him.”