Chapter 3 - The Name Behind the Secret
By noon, Atticus's home office had become a command center.
Cordelia stood near the door.
“I thought you canceled everything.”
“I canceled business.”
Atticus turned his laptop toward her.
“This is personal.”
Marcus stood nearby.
“We traced the search.”
“To whom?” Cordelia asked.
Marcus hesitated.
Atticus answered.
“Daniel Crowe.”
Cordelia's face changed.
Atticus saw it instantly.
“You know him.”
“No.”
“That wasn't a question.”
She swallowed.
“I know the name.”
“From where?”
Cordelia looked toward Marcus.
“Can we speak privately?”
Atticus nodded.
Marcus left.
Cordelia closed the door.
“Daniel Crowe funded one of the clinics I went to.”
Atticus stared.
“What?”
“The first oncologist recommended an experimental treatment program.”
“Crowe owns it?”
“Partially.”
“And you didn't think that mattered?”
“I didn't know he was connected to you.”
Atticus laughed bitterly.
“Everyone like Crowe is connected to me.”
Cordelia stepped closer.
“What does he want?”
“I don't know.”
His phone rang.
Marcus.
Atticus answered.
“Talk.”
Marcus's voice came through the speaker.
“We found something else. Crowe's clinic has been selling private patient data.”
Cordelia went pale.
Atticus's jaw clenched.
“To whom?”
“Insurance companies. Private investigators. Anyone willing to pay.”
Atticus looked at Cordelia.
“And hers?”
A pause.
“Someone bought Cordelia's complete file three weeks ago.”
“Name.”
“Anonymous account.”
Atticus's voice dropped.
“Find them.”
Cordelia grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“No?”
“I know that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that ends with someone disappearing.”
Atticus said nothing.
“Promise me.”
“I can't.”
“Then nothing has changed.”
“Someone bought your medical records.”
“And killing people fixes that?”
“It stops them doing it again.”
Cordelia released him.
“You still think every problem is solved with fear.”
“Fear works.”
“Not on cancer.”
Silence.
That sentence landed exactly where she intended.
Atticus looked away.
Cordelia approached him.
“This is what I need from you.”
“What?”
“Become someone who can solve a problem without destroying everything around him.”
Atticus stared at her.
“That might be harder than Chicago.”
“Good.”
For the first time, Cordelia smiled faintly.
“You've always liked difficult negotiations.”
---
Monday morning arrived.
Atticus entered St. Vincent Medical Center beside Cordelia.
No entourage.
No visible weapon.
Just her husband.
Dr. Helen Mercer greeted them.
“You must be Atticus.”
He extended his hand.
“I am.”
“I've heard a lot about you.”
Atticus glanced at Cordelia.
“Apparently not enough.”
Cordelia rolled her eyes.
Dr. Mercer smiled.
“Sit down.”
They reviewed scans.
Bloodwork.
Treatment responses.
Atticus asked question after question.
Finally:
“What are her odds?”
Cordelia closed her eyes.
“Atticus.”
“No. I need a number.”
Dr. Mercer remained calm.
“Medicine doesn't always work in clean numbers.”
“Try.”
“If she responds to the new protocol, her chances improve significantly.”
“And if she doesn't?”
Dr. Mercer hesitated.
Atticus leaned forward.
“If she were your wife, what would you do?”
The doctor looked directly at him.
“Exactly what we're doing.”
Atticus nodded.
“Then do it.”
Cordelia touched his arm.
“Atticus.”
He looked at her.
“This is your decision.”
She blinked.
He corrected himself.
“Whatever you choose, I'm staying.”
Cordelia squeezed his hand.
May you like
“Then stay.”
---
