Chapter 2 - THE FILE THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST
Caitlyn heard the words, but for several seconds they refused to make sense.
"What police report?"
Vincent did not answer.
Damian did.
"The report from your parents' accident."
"I know what report you mean."
Her voice sharpened.
"I'm asking why my employer has it."
The cabin door opened behind them.
Cold Ohio air rushed inside.
No one moved toward it.
Damian looked at Vincent.
"Where was it stored?"
"Legacy archive."
"Whose folder?"
"Hamilton Private Holdings."
That name meant nothing to Caitlyn.
Vincent's face suggested it should mean something to Damian.
It did.
A coldness entered Damian's eyes that Caitlyn had never seen before.
"My father's archive?"
"Yes."
Caitlyn looked between them.
"Your father had the police report from the crash that killed my parents?"
Damian took one breath before answering.
"Apparently."
"Apparently?"
She laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
"You own buildings on three continents, but we're using apparently?"
Vincent stepped forward.
"Caitlyn, we only found it because the breach flagged old archived material."
"How long has it been there?"
Vincent's silence answered her.
"How long?"
"The file was uploaded three years ago."
Her face emptied.
Three years ago.
Her parents had died three years ago.
Noah's life had been divided into before and after three years ago.
Caitlyn had spent three years signing medical forms, fighting insurance companies, selling her parents' house, closing accounts, learning the vocabulary of neurological damage, and pretending grief could be scheduled around work.
And somewhere inside Hamilton Holdings, the police report had been sitting in Damian's dead father's private archive.
"Open it," she said.
Vincent hesitated.
"Now."
Damian nodded once.
Vincent tapped the screen.
"The archive copy was encrypted."
"Was?"
"The person who accessed it decrypted it."
"Then open it."
Vincent did.
The first page appeared.
Caitlyn recognized the case number immediately.
She had memorized it without meaning to.
She recognized the highway marker.
The time of the collision.
The weather notation.
Black ice.
Low visibility.
Multi-vehicle incident.
Her eyes moved lower.
Then stopped.
A yellow digital highlight had been added to one paragraph.
Vehicle Three, a commercial tractor-trailer, had crossed the center divider after losing control.
The trucking company was listed as Northstar Freight Logistics.
Caitlyn frowned.
"Northstar went bankrupt years ago."
Vincent said nothing.
Damian's gaze stayed on the screen.
"Who owned it?" Caitlyn asked.
Still nothing.
Her pulse began to pound.
"Who owned Northstar?"
Damian answered.
"A holding company controlled by my father."
The world became very quiet.
Caitlyn stepped backward.
Damian did not try to touch her.
"No."
"Caitlyn."
"No."
She backed into the leather seat.
"The truck that hit my parents belonged to your family?"
"Indirectly."
"Do not say indirectly to me."
Damian's jaw tightened.
"Northstar operated under a holding company that my father controlled."
"So yes."
"Yes."
Her throat burned.
"Did you know?"
"No."
She searched his face.
Damian Hamilton had made an empire out of being unreadable.
Caitlyn had watched skilled attorneys misunderstand his silence and lose millions because of it.
Now her entire life depended on knowing whether he was lying.
"Did you know my parents died because of one of your trucks?"
"No."
"Did you know when you hired me?"
"No."
"Did your father?"
A pause.
"I don't know."
"That's convenient."
Vincent stepped between the seats.
"Caitlyn, Damian's father died two months before you were hired."
She rounded on him.
"And that makes this better?"
"No."
"Because it sounds like everyone in this company gets to be dead, unavailable, or surprised while my family keeps paying the bill."
Vincent's face tightened.
"I am trying to help you."
"Then help me find Noah."
The words sliced through the cabin.
Vincent looked down.
"We're trying."
"Try harder."
For the first time since she had known him, Vincent Russo did not have an answer.
Damian stepped toward the open cabin door.
"Car."
One of the men moved immediately.
Caitlyn stared at him.
"Where are we going?"
"A secure property outside the city."
"I'm going to Pennsylvania."
"No."
The word was quiet and absolute.
Caitlyn's anger ignited again.
"You do not own me."
Damian turned.
"No."
He met her eyes.
"But someone who knows your brother's location, your family history, your insurance records, and your electronic signature just removed a disabled man from a locked medical facility using information stolen from my office."
He pointed toward the dark runway.
"You can hate me from a secure car."
Caitlyn took a step toward him.
"If Noah dies because of this—"
Damian's face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
"He won't."
"You can't promise that."
"No."
His eyes hardened.
"But I can promise what happens to the person who took him."
Caitlyn should have been frightened.
Instead, some exhausted, furious part of her believed him.
That frightened her more.
They left the jet under heavy security.
Two black SUVs waited beyond the private terminal.
Damian placed Caitlyn in the rear seat of the first vehicle and climbed in beside her.
Vincent sat in front.
Three more vehicles formed around them before the convoy moved.
Caitlyn did not ask where they were going again.
She called Silver Pines.
She called the state police.
She called every hospital within fifty miles of Stroudsburg.
Noah had not arrived at any of them.
By the sixth call, her voice had become mechanical.
By the eighth, she could barely see the numbers on the screen.
Damian took the phone from her hand after the ninth.
She tried to grab it back.
"Give me that."
"No."
"Mr. Hamilton—"
"You have called the same hospital twice."
She froze.
He was right.
She had not realized it.
"I need to do something."
"You are."
"Sitting in your car is not doing something."
"Staying alive is currently the most useful thing you can do."
Caitlyn turned toward the window.
Rain streaked the glass.
The highway lights blurred.
"You don't know what useful means."
Damian said nothing.
"Noah can't speak clearly."
Her voice dropped.
"He can't tell someone if he's in pain."
She swallowed.
"He can't tell them he's scared."
Damian remained silent.
"When strangers move him too fast, he panics."
Her hands twisted together.
"He hates fluorescent lights because the hospital after the crash was too bright."
A memory surfaced without permission.
Noah at eighteen, tall and irritating and always hungry.
Noah stealing fries from her plate.
Noah complaining about college applications.
Noah calling shotgun before every family drive.
Then Noah beneath white hospital sheets, his head wrapped in bandages while machines breathed around him.
Caitlyn pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth.
Damian looked out the opposite window.
She wondered whether he was giving her privacy.
The gesture felt almost cruel because it was kind.
Vincent's phone rang.
He answered and immediately sat straighter.
"Say again."
Caitlyn leaned forward.
"What?"
Vincent lifted one hand.
"Where?"
He listened.
Then he looked over his shoulder.
"They found Noah's wheelchair."
Caitlyn stopped breathing.
"Where?"
"Behind a closed gas station two miles from the abandoned van."
"Was there blood?"
Vincent's eyes flicked to Damian.
"No."
"Then why would they leave his chair?"
No one answered.
Caitlyn understood first.
"Because they changed vehicles."
Damian nodded.
"And because the chair has a tracking tag."
Caitlyn stared at him.
"How do you know that?"
"Most high-end medical chairs do."
"His does."
She grabbed her phone from Damian's hand.
"The manufacturer has a location service."
Her fingers flew over the screen.
She opened the app.
The wheelchair's location flashed exactly where Vincent had said it would.
Damian leaned closer.
"Any secondary device?"
"No."
Caitlyn stopped.
Then remembered something.
"His watch."
Vincent turned.
"What watch?"
"I bought him a medical alert watch last Christmas."
Her breath quickened.
"He doesn't wear it on his wrist because he keeps pulling at it, so the nurses clip it inside his waistband."
"Does it have location tracking?"
"Yes."
Caitlyn opened another app.
The login rejected her password.
She tried again.
Rejected.
"No."
Her hands began shaking harder.
"Come on."
Damian took the phone.
"What's the account email?"
"Mine."
"Vincent."
Vincent was already calling someone.
"I need access to a Sentinel Medical wearable account."
Caitlyn stared.
"You can't just break into—"
Damian gave her a look.
"Would you like to file a complaint?"
She almost said yes.
Instead, a broken laugh escaped her.
It was the first sound she had made that did not feel like panic.
Three minutes later, Vincent received coordinates.
"We have a signal."
Caitlyn leaned forward so quickly the seat belt locked across her chest.
"Where?"
Vincent stared at the map.
"Moving south on Route Thirty-Three."
"How fast?"
"Fifty-two miles an hour."
Damian's eyes sharpened.
"Send it to the Pennsylvania team."
Vincent did.
The convoy accelerated.
Caitlyn watched the blinking location point on Vincent's screen.
For eleven minutes, it moved steadily south.
Then it stopped.
"Why did it stop?"
Vincent zoomed in.
"Industrial area."
Damian named an address.
Vincent looked at him.
"You know it?"
"Old textile facility."
"Owned by?"
Damian's eyes darkened.
"Northstar Freight Logistics."
Caitlyn felt the blood leave her face.
The dead company from her parents' accident.
The company owned by Damian's father.
The company that should not matter anymore.
Vincent's phone rang again.
He listened for less than five seconds.
Then he swore.
Damian's voice became quiet.
"What happened?"
Vincent looked at Caitlyn.
"Our team reached the building."
"And?"
"The watch is there."
Caitlyn gripped the seat.
"Noah?"
Vincent's expression told her before he spoke.
"Noah isn't."
The car went silent.
Damian looked at the rain-dark road ahead.
"They knew about the tracker."
Vincent nodded.
"Which means they knew Caitlyn would use it."
Caitlyn stared at both men.
"So they wanted us to find that building."
Damian's gaze moved to her.
"Yes."
"Why?"
His phone buzzed.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
Damian opened it.
The photograph showed Noah lying in a hospital bed that Caitlyn did not recognize.
His eyes were open.
A newspaper rested against his chest.
The date was that morning.
Beneath the image were seven words.
May you like
ASK DAMIAN WHAT HIS FATHER DID IN 2019.
