Chapter 5 — What My Name Changed

Cassie stood when she saw me enter the waiting area.

Her brother rose beside her.

He was younger than I had expected, with chestnut hair, a narrow face, and a sweatshirt pulled over clothes that looked as though he had dressed in a hurry.

He looked at my wet jeans before meeting my eyes.

“You’re Adrian Vale.”

“Yes.”

“Bellacort’s Adrian Vale.”

“Yes.”

Cassie stayed beside the chair she had vacated. Her arms were folded, her canvas bag still hanging from one shoulder.

“I’m Noah,” her brother said.

I held out my hand.

He shook it once, firmly, then let go.

“How is Walter?”

“His blood pressure was low when we got here. They’re checking his medication and keeping him on a monitor.”

“Is he awake?”

“He’s arguing with everyone, so yes.”

Cassie didn’t smile.

I looked at her.

“Thank you for letting me come.”

“I haven’t decided whether that was a good idea.”

“That’s fair.”

“No,” she said. “It isn’t fair. You got to know things about me while I thought I knew something about you.”

A woman two chairs away glanced up.

I lowered my voice.

“Would you rather speak somewhere quieter?”

“No. I’d rather you answer me.”

“All right.”

“Were you testing me too?”

I had prepared answers during the drive. None survived the way she asked that question.

“I didn’t come there to meet you.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“No. I didn’t set out to test you.”

“But once I was there?”

I looked at her tired face, at the damp shoulders of her shirt.

“I noticed that you were kind to someone you thought had nothing.”

“And you kept letting me think that.”

“Yes.”

“So you were still collecting answers. You just weren’t telling me the questions.”

I had no defense that wouldn’t make it worse.

“I should have told you.”

“You had time.”

“I did.”

Noah rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“Why dress up like that in the first place?”

“Because people behave differently when they know my name.”

He looked at me.

“I imagine they have reasons.”

“Some of them do.”

Cassie glanced at her brother, then back at me.

“I wasn’t asking for your name because I wanted something. I was trying to say good night to someone I liked.”

The last words seemed to surprise her as much as they surprised me.

She looked away immediately.

I wanted to reach for her. The impulse was so strong that I closed my hand around the edge of my coat.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She shook her head.

“I don’t know what to do with that right now.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

My phone vibrated.

Martin’s name appeared on the screen.

Cassie saw it.

“Work?”

“The person retrieving your father’s records.”

“Then answer.”

I moved a few feet away, staying within sight.

“What have you found?”

“The file went through operations before it was closed,” Martin said. “There’s no separate corrective work order attached.”

“Was one created elsewhere?”

“We’re searching.”

“Who approved the closure?”

“The copy we have doesn’t show a clear name.”

“Then find the original.”

“I’m trying to establish the context first.”

“The context can wait. Preserve the original records.”

“We have a replacement arriving at St. Vincent’s shortly.”

“Good. Keep me informed about the transfer and the test results.”

“Adrian, there’s something you should understand. Walter had disagreements with the hospital administrator. He wanted modifications beyond the contracted scope.”

“Were they necessary?”

“They were expensive.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I can’t give you a technical determination over the phone.”

“Then don’t give me a character assessment of the man who raised the issue.”

Martin stopped speaking.

I looked toward Cassie.

She was watching me, trying to read a conversation she could hear only half of.

“I want facts,” I said. “Send what you find.”

I ended the call.

Noah had gone to meet a nurse near the treatment-area doors.

Cassie waited until I returned.

“What did he say?”

“There isn’t a corrective work order attached to the report.”

“So they didn’t fix it.”

“I haven’t established that yet.”

“You sound like them.”

I let the accusation stand for a moment.

“What I can tell you is that the document says the issue was resolved, and the records provided so far don’t show how.”

“That’s a longer way of saying they didn’t fix it.”

“Maybe. But I need to verify it before I tell your father something I can’t prove.”

She looked down at her bag.

“Dad used to come home with drawings on the backs of envelopes,” she said. “Things he wanted to improve. He’d put them on the kitchen table while we ate.”

I stayed quiet.

“When the calls stopped, he kept checking his phone. He pretended he wasn’t.”

“How long?”

“For months.”

She pulled the bag off her shoulder and set it on the chair.

“He took smaller jobs. Places that needed things patched instead of replaced. Then his health got worse, and he couldn’t do as much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know whether your company caused any of that. I’m not saying it did.”

“I understand.”

“But I know what losing the work did to him.”

I thought of the phrase Martin had used.

Beyond the contracted scope.

A neat way to describe a concern that had followed a man home and stayed there.

Noah returned.

“They’re keeping him overnight.”

Cassie straightened.

“What did the doctor say?”

“They want to observe him after they adjust the medication. He’s stable.”

She closed her eyes briefly.

“He’ll hate that.”

“He already does.”

Noah looked at me.

“I told him you’re here.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked if you brought the report.”

“I have the company’s scanned copy.”

Noah gave a short nod.

“He said that sounded about right.”

The nurse opened the treatment-area door and called them.

Cassie picked up her bag.

I stayed where I was.

She took two steps, then turned.

“Are you coming?”

“Only if your father wants me there.”

“He does.”

Noah held the door.

I followed them down a narrow corridor.

Walter Doyle sat upright on an examination bed, a blanket over his knees and a blood-pressure cuff around one thin arm.

He had silver hair, a lined face, and a gaze that moved over me without admiration or fear.

“So,” he said. “You’re the man from dinner.”

“Yes.”

He glanced at Cassie.

“You didn’t mention the wet trousers.”

“Dad.”

“I’m in a hospital. Let me have something.”

Noah pulled up a chair.

I remained near the doorway.

“Mr. Doyle, I’m Adrian Vale.”

“I know who you are.”

“I received your report tonight.”

“Which version?”

The question was immediate.

“The scan marked reviewed and resolved.”

Walter nodded once.

Then he reached toward a small cloth bag beside the bed.

Cassie moved to help him, but he shook his head and drew out a manila envelope himself.

“That’s why,” he said, “I kept copies.”