CHAPTER 7 : THE WOMAN WHO WANTED HER GONE
For several seconds, no one moved.
The claim was too monstrous to understand.
“You’re saying someone intentionally gave her cancer?” I asked.
Samuel shook his head.
“Not necessarily intentionally. The malignant population may have come from contaminated donor material.”
“But you were the donor.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have leukemia?”
“No.”
Meredith took the report from him.
“This analysis is preliminary.”
“You knew about this,” Samuel said.
“I knew there were irregularities.”
“How long?”
“Several months.”
Daniel stepped toward her.
“You denied Sophie access to the trial while knowing the original procedure might be responsible for her condition.”
“I denied her because she is medically unstable.”
“You denied her because treating her would force you to disclose what happened.”
Meredith’s composure cracked.
“You think everything is a conspiracy because it makes better television.”
“This isn’t television. She’s my sister.”
The word seemed to surprise him.
Meredith looked at Daniel as though he had betrayed her.
“You met her yesterday.”
“And you knew her entire life.”
Samuel studied the report.
“The sample code was altered.”
“By whom?” I asked.
“The original donor label was replaced before infusion.”
“You said the cells were yours.”
“They were supposed to be mine.”
Meredith’s eyes moved toward the floor.
Samuel saw it.
“What did you do?”
“I did what was necessary.”
“Whose cells were infused into Sophie?”
Meredith remained silent.
Daniel pulled out his phone.
“I’m calling federal investigators.”
“Wait,” she said.
“For what?”
“The cells came from another research participant.”
“Who?”
“A woman with an early-stage marrow abnormality.”
“You used diseased cells?”
“The abnormality had not been diagnosed at the time.”
Samuel stared at her.
“You never retested the sample.”
“We had minutes to act.”
“Then why did you change the donor code?”
Meredith’s voice hardened.
“Because using your cells would have raised questions about your relationship to Sophie.”
The answer was horrifying in its simplicity.
She had chosen secrecy over safety.
Again.
A monitor sounded inside Sophie’s room. Nurses hurried through the doors.
Dr. Patel emerged moments later.
“Her oxygen level is improving,” he said. “The infection is beginning to respond.”
I nearly collapsed with relief.
“Can she receive the trial therapy?”
“Not yet. But this is a positive change.”
Daniel turned to Meredith.
“Approve the treatment.”
“I cannot make that decision alone.”
“You designed the trial.”
“There are regulations.”
“You ignored regulations when you infused untested cells into Sophie.”
Meredith’s face whitened.
Samuel stepped between them.
“Approve compassionate use, or I will personally deliver every document to the authorities.”
“You would destroy the hospital.”
“I should have destroyed the lie thirty-four years ago.”
Meredith looked at her husband as though she no longer recognized him.
“You think confessing now makes you brave?”
“No.”
Samuel’s voice shook.
“It makes me late.”
Meredith left without another word.
That afternoon, the compassionate-use request was approved.
But there was a condition.
Sophie had to remain stable for seventy-two hours before receiving the therapy.
For the first twenty-four hours, she improved.
Her fever dropped.
Her blood pressure stabilized.
The doctors reduced the medication keeping her unconscious.
I sat beside her and read aloud from the mystery novels she loved, though I had no idea whether she could hear me.
On the second evening, her fingers moved.
Then her eyes opened.
She looked confused and frightened until she saw me.
I stood.
“You’re safe.”
She tried to speak around the breathing tube.
“Don’t try.”
Her eyes filled.
I touched the back of her hand.
“The infection is improving. They’re hoping to remove the tube tomorrow.”
She blinked slowly.
“Lena is here. Samuel is here. Daniel too.”
At Daniel’s name, confusion crossed her face.
“Your brother,” I reminded her.
Her eyes widened slightly.
I almost laughed.
“Yes, your life has become extremely complicated.”
A faint expression that might have been amusement appeared in her eyes.
Then she noticed someone through the glass wall.
My mother.
Marjorie stood in the corridor carrying a small overnight bag.
Sophie’s face tightened immediately.
I stepped outside.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see her.”
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She just woke up from a ventilator, and the first emotion she showed when she saw you was fear.”
My mother’s eyes filled.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
“But I need to tell her the truth.”
“She has enough truth to survive for one day.”
Marjorie held out the overnight bag.
“These are her things. Clothes, photographs, the blue blanket she kept after the first pregnancy.”
“How did you get them?”
“I went to her apartment.”
“You entered her home?”
“I still had the emergency key.”
Anger flared.
“You never learn.”
“I didn’t go there to search.”
“Then why?”
“Someone broke in.”
My anger disappeared.
“What?”
“Her apartment was ransacked.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes.”
“What was taken?”
“Medical paperwork. Her laptop. And a locked wooden box from her closet.”
I remembered the box. Sophie kept old family documents inside it.
“Who knew about it?”
“Lena might.”
I looked toward the waiting area where Lena sat sleeping.
My mother lowered her voice.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“The police found a woman’s glove near the broken window.”
“That tells us nothing.”
“It had initials stitched inside.”
She opened her handbag and showed me a photograph taken at the apartment.
The glove was black leather.
Two letters were embroidered near the wrist.
L.B.
“Lena Bennett,” my mother whispered.
I stared at the image.
“No.”
“You barely know her.”
“She’s here trying to save Sophie.”
“She isn’t a donor.”
“That doesn’t make her a criminal.”
“I’m telling you what the police found.”
Before I could respond, Lena appeared behind us.
“What are you accusing me of now?”
My mother turned.
Lena saw the photograph.
Her expression changed.
“That isn’t mine.”
“Those are your initials,” Marjorie said.
“So are the initials of thousands of people.”
“Did you know about the wooden box?”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
Lena looked toward Sophie’s room.
“Letters from our mother. Family photographs. Adoption papers.”
“Adoption papers?” I asked.
She closed her eyes.
“Sophie’s legal adoption by Robert.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying,” my mother said.
Lena’s face hardened.
“You have lied to your son for years. Don’t use that word with me.”
A police detective arrived an hour later.
He questioned Lena privately.
When she returned, she looked furious.
“They think I broke into the apartment.”
“Where were you last night?” I asked.
She stared at me.
“You believe them?”
“I’m asking.”
“I was here.”
“Not the entire night.”
Her silence troubled me.
“Where did you go?”
She looked through the glass at Sophie.
“I went to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“The person who has been paying for Sophie’s treatment.”
I frowned.
“Her insurance pays most of it.”
“Not the private medications or the apartment rent.”
“Who paid?”
Lena pulled a bank receipt from her pocket.
“The deposits came from a company called North Shore Patient Aid.”
Daniel took the receipt and searched the name.
His expression darkened.
“That company doesn’t exist.”
“Then who sent the money?” I asked.
Lena looked directly at Marjorie.
“I followed the payment trail last night.”
My mother’s face went pale.
Lena continued.
“The account belongs to Ethan’s employer.”
I stared at her.
“My company?”
“Yes.”
“Why would they pay Sophie’s bills?”
“Because someone at your office has been watching both of you for months.”
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared from my supervisor, Martin Hale.
DON’T TRUST LENA. SHE ISN’T SOPHIE’S SISTER.
May you like
Attached beneath the message was a photograph of a birth certificate.
According to the document, Lena Bennett had died twenty-eight years ago.
