Chapter 4: The Letter That Changed Everything
My father's handwriting covered three pages.
Small, precise letters pressed hard into the paper as if he'd known he needed them to last.
I read the first paragraph and stopped.
"He knew," I said.
"He knew he was being watched."
Luka said nothing.
He let me read.
My father had written the letter fourteen months before he d*ed.
He described Halcyon's trials in clinical, careful language — dates, dosages, patient identifiers, the names of the two physicians who had administered the treatments.
He described the moment he found the second set of records, the ones that showed adverse outcomes that never appeared in the official filings.
He described copying them onto a drive and hiding the drive before anyone could ask him to hand it over.
Then, near the bottom of the second page, he wrote:
*Elena, if you are reading this, I was not careful enough or not fast enough.
I am sorry for that.
I tried to keep this away from you.
I see now that keeping it away from you was the wrong choice.
You deserved to know who was sitting at our dinner table.*
I looked up.
"Richard Vance came to our house," I said.
"He came for Christmas.
He sat at our table.
My father cooked for him."
"Your father was still gathering evidence at that point.
He needed Richard close."
"He never said a word to me."
"He was protecting you."
"He was protecting me and it kjlled him." My voice came out flat.
I hadn't meant it to sound that way.
I pressed my hand against my daughter's back and felt her breathe.
Luka waited.
I turned to the third page.
The drive my father had copied was not in the letter.
He hadn't been reckless enough to mail it.
But he had written the location in a form only I would understand — a reference to a hiding spot from my childhood, a loose brick behind the radiator in the back room of his pharmacy, the one he'd never let anyone else touch when they cleaned.
The pharmacy had passed to a cousin after his d*eath.
It was still operating.
"The drive is still there," I said.
"Probably.
Unless someone else knew about the hiding spot."
"No one did.
It was ours." I folded the letter carefully.
"I need to get there before anyone realizes I've read this."
"I know." Luka stood.
"That's why we're not waiting until you're discharged."
I looked at my daughter.
"I can't take her out of here.
She's twelve hours old."
"You won't have to.
I have someone I trust completely who will stay in this room until you're back.
She's outside in the corridor right now."
"You planned for this."
"Your father planned for this.
I'm following his instructions."
A knock at the door.
Soft, two taps.
Luka crossed the room and opened it.
A woman stepped in — mid-fifties, grey hair pulled back, the kind of steady face that didn't change expression easily.
She looked at me, then at the baby, and something in her eyes went very quiet and very warm.
"This is Rosa," Luka said.
"She was one of the forty-one."
Rosa sat in the chair beside the bed without being asked.
She reached out and touched the edge of my daughter's blanket with one careful finger.
"Go," she said to me.
"I won't move from this spot."
I believed her.
I didn't know why, but I believed her completely.
I was pulling on my coat when my phone rang.
Not a message this time.
A call.
Daniel's name on the screen.
I looked at Luka.
He gave a single small nod.
I answered.
"Elena." Daniel's voice was smooth.
Controlled.
The voice he used in meetings.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot today.
I'd like to come back and talk.
Calmly.
Just the two of us."
"Of course," I said.
"Come whenever you're ready."
May you like
I ended the call and put the phone in my pocket.
Luka was already at the door.
