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T
he drive back to the
hospital is the longest ever. I can’t seem to stay away from that place. It’s like a gigantic magnet, and I’m nothing but a paperclip.

“Mira, are you sure you want to confront your father like this?” David asks for the third time. He gives me an odd look, one that suggests he just might think I’m crazy. But I’m way past crazy.

“Yes, I’m sure, damn it!” But then I bite my lip. My anxiety level has been building since we left the mansion. “I’m sorry,” I immediately apologize, and I mean it. “It’s just that the pieces are all falling into place. The fact that Gregory Stark and Jackie Beitner died so close together
could
be a tragic coincidence, but I doubt it. Wikipedia said Stark died in a car accident. The autopsy found high levels of alcohol and a sedative in his bloodstream, just like what they found in Mama. There wasn’t anything about Jackie Beitner online, but I just know they’re connected.”

“And you’re convinced your dad’s responsible?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Well, the affair for one thing.”

There’s a twinge of doubt in David’s voice. “He’d risk prison, risk his entire career to cover up a love affair?”

“It’s not just the affair; it’s the Gaudium trials, too. It’s all linked somehow.”

“What about you? Why would he spend the past sixteen years raising you only to try to run you over? It wasn’t even his car.”

“But it was too dark to tell for sure. Besides, he could have used a rental.”

“In that case, it could have been anyone. Even just some crazy person who mistook us for someone else. But, your dad? It doesn’t make sense, Mira.”

He has a point, but there are just too many coincidences to ignore. “Well, whatever the truth is, the only way to find out is to talk to him—face to face.”

After hitting every red light in the city, we finally reach the hospital. My father’s presence here is confirmed by the hordes of news vans and protestors gathered at the entrance. Several police officers hold them at bay, but the crowd seethes like a kettle left on the burner far too long. Some are here to show support for my father while others are enraged. Either way, getting through them and past the police will be impossible.

“We need another way in,” David says.

“Let’s go around the back.” I point to a side street that leads away from the hospital, but I know that it doubles back to the south side of the building. “We’ll use the ambulance entrance.”

David parks the car on the nearly vacant street. We get out, and David pulls his crutches from the backseat. I nod toward the skeletal remains of the Rawley wing.

“The news said the press conference would be held in the new wing,” I remind him as we slip through the doors. “I’m assuming they meant the lobby, since the upper floors are still off limits. It’s not far from here.”

I lead us both down a deserted hall. We make the first right turn and run nearly headlong into the biggest, hairiest nurse I’ve ever seen. Built like a linebacker, this guy towers above me. And with his thick, smoke-colored beard, he looks like he should be wearing deerskins instead of scrubs.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. If we look too nervous we’ll attract undue attention, but it’s too late. Nurse Mountain Man takes a stance directly in front of us, effectively blocking the entire hallway.

“Where are you two heading?” His eyes narrow suspiciously.

I glance at his name badge and blurt out a greeting. “Hi Carrey.”
Carrey?
  “Actually, I’m a little turned around. We’re supposed to meet our dad in the ER. Our brother’s there with a broken arm.”

David interrupts, “Fell out of a tree, poor little guy.”

“But we didn’t get any breakfast, so I thought we’d, you know, get something from the cafeteria. I could have sworn it was this way.”

“I told you we should have turned left,” says David, rolling his eyes. I play it up, too, letting out an exasperated sigh.

Carrey glares at us, and then raises his meaty arm, pointing back the way we came. “Cafeteria’s near the front entrance. Take this hall all the way to the end and hang a right.”

“I knew it,” says David, slapping my shoulder.

I slap him back. “Knock it off.”

We continue our feigned sibling bickering all the way back down the hall. Twice I look over my shoulder, but Nurse Mountain Man is not far behind. Finally he
disappears down another corridor. We wait a minute before turning back, peering around the corner just in time to see Carrey slip into the men’s room.

“Come on!” I grab David’s shirt front, urging him to move faster. With his injured leg and crutches, he’s walking at a snail’s pace. “At this rate the press conference will be over before we get there.”

Luckily it hasn’t even started yet when we arrive. The vast room in which it’s being held is crammed with reporters and cameramen jostling to get closer to Papa who sits behind a narrow table at the front of the room. His clasped hands rest on the royal blue tablecloth. The stress he must be feeling shows on his face. Standing behind him, off to one side, is Jordan, and on the other is a security guard. From the looks of it, it’s going to be a few more minutes before things get rolling. But that still doesn’t leave me much time.

I feel a gentle push from behind, David urging me forward. Maneuvering my way through the crowd isn’t easy, but finally I reach the table.

“Papa.” The din in the room is so loud that even though I’m right in front of him, he doesn’t hear me. I shout louder. “Papa!” Finally his eyes connect with mine. He sees me, but he’s not smiling.

“Mira, what are you doing here?”

“Papa, I need to talk to you.”

“This isn’t the time or place, Mira. It will have to wait until later.”

“No, not later,” I tell him. “Now.”

I hold up the photograph. The moment he sees it, all the color drains from his face. I can tell he wants to ask where I found it, but he already knows the answer.

“I can explain,” he says.

A technician steps up beside him and clips a mic to his lapel, telling him that it will be switched on once the press conference has begun. I wait until he leaves to fiddle with the podium mic before speaking to my father again.

“I want to know why,” I say, lowering my voice to make sure no one else will overhear. “I need to know why you killed Mama.”

Papa’s eyes widen, and a
thin sheen of perspiration forms on his brow. “What are you talking about, Mira?”

“You promised me you’d wait. You promised.”

He stares at me, speechless. The expression in his eyes is not what I expected. I thought he’d be angry or defensive. Instead he seems bewildered—as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. But how could he not know?

A man in a gray business suit steps up to the microphone and announces that the conference will begin shortly. I’m still holding up the picture, and Papa is still staring into the faces of Stark and Jackie Beitner.

“You knew them both,” I tell him. “You lied.”

Papa looks away from the photo and out over the crowd before turning back to me. “I can explain—” he tries again.

“I want to know about my mother—my
real
mother. I want to know how she died.”

For a moment, I think Papa is going to answer me. But then someone’s got me by the elbow, a grip so strong I’m sure it will leave a bruise. I’m being pulled away from the table, away from Papa. I look up and see Jordan dragging me through the crowd, his leather-gloved hands digging painfully into my arm through the fabric of my hoodie.

“Papa!” I call out. “Papa!” But the hum of voices and cameras drowns me out. I try to wrench free from Jordan’s grasp. He takes both my arms in his fists.

“Stop it, Mira!” he demands, his face right in mine. “Let your father do his job.”

“I have to talk to him, Jordan!”

“Not now, Mira.” Jordan pulls me through the crowd toward the door. “We’ll go somewhere quiet and wait until this is over. All right?”

I don’t respond. I’m straining against his grip, wanting to go back to Papa, but Jordan grabs me tighter and gives me a firm shake. “All right?” he says again. I stop resisting and nod my head.

We snake our way through the swarm of reporters toward the doors. I spot David through the sea of bodies. He gives me a questioning look, wondering if he should follow us, but I shake my head.

Jordan and I exit the room, and the doors slam shut behind us. The hall outside is deserted and eerily silent. We walk a few yards to a little alcove near a window; the space is complete with blue upholstered chairs and several potted plants.

Jordan turns to face me. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

The anger I felt just moments ago melts into grief. “It’s Mama,” I tell him. “She’s gone.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Mira.”

I’m about to fall apart. I’ve got to hold myself together. There’s too much at stake. I swallow back the emotion and remind myself why I came here in the first place.

“Papa isn’t who you think he is, Jordan. All those people in there who believe he’s innocent,” I nod toward the conference room doors, “they’re all wrong. Papa is guilty.”

Jordan’s grip on me tightens, but I keep talking.

“He killed my mother, Jordan, and I’m pretty sure he’s responsible for at least two other deaths.”

The muscles in Jordan’s jaw tense up. “What other deaths?” he asks. “You mean the Rawley trials? Gregory Stark was responsible for that. They found no evidence linking your father to him.”

“They didn’t,” I say, gathering my courage, “but I did.”

I slip the photo of Papa, Jackie and Stark out from my pocket. Jordan takes one glimpse of it, and his whole demeanor changes. He’s suddenly furious.

“Put that away!” he growls. He glances nervously up and down the empty hallway. I do as he says and shove the photo back in my pocket. “What the hell are you doing with that?”

“It’s Jackie Beitner and Gregory Stark.”

“I know who they are.”

“Jordan, Papa drugged my mother and then authorized to have her life support terminated. Papa is linked to Stark’s death and Jackie Beitner’s, too. What is going on? I need to face my father and demand he tell me the truth.”

I try to pull away, but Jordan jerks me back hard. “You’re not going back in there.”

“Yes, I am. Now let me go.”

“Think about what you’re doing, Mira! Your father is the face of Rawley Pharmaceutical—of Gaudium. It has already restored thousands of autistic kids to normal function. Teen suicide rates have bottomed out. And there’s the very real
possibility of curing Alzheimer’s! Mira, don’t you see? We are on the verge of changing the world!”

“But at what cost?” I ask, peering directly into Jordan’s eyes. “Mama, Stark, Jackie Beitner, those women who died—how many lives lost are
too
many? I have to talk to Papa, Jordan. This has to end.”

Jordan suddenly squeezes my arms so hard I can feel his fingers against my bone. Seeing him this angry frightens me. “Stop,” I gasp. “You’re hurting me!”

“Knock it off, Mira!” he shouts, shaking me again. His voice has turned into a cruel hiss. “Nothing is going to stand in our way. Not you, and sure as hell not your dead mother!”

My dead mother . . .

When I accused Papa of killing Mama he looked honestly surprised. But when I told Jordan, he said he knew. How could he know and not Papa? Yesterday Jordan was looking through Papa’s papers for something.  What if that something was Mama’s Termination of Life Support form?

“You?” Rage flares up inside me. “You filed the authorization without Papa’s knowledge? You killed her!”

In a burst of strength, I wrench my right arm free from Jordan’s grasp. Before I even realize what I’m doing my hand strikes his cheek with all the force and bite of a rattlesnake. The power of the impact causes Jordan to stumble back a step. He releases my other arm, but already it’s too late for me. In less time than it takes for the burn of the slap to radiate across my palm—I know.

I see…

Everything.