Chapter 18 - The Last Evidence Ethan Tried to Hide
The mechanic was found in Indiana.
His name was Samuel Pike.
He had not disappeared voluntarily.
He had been paid to leave Illinois.
Investigators located him after following a transfer connected to Chloe’s private account.
Samuel agreed to testify.
According to him, Ethan had never personally requested sabotage.
The order had come through another man.
A Vitalis executive named Leonard Shaw.
That shifted everything.
The conspiracy was larger than the Vance family.
Leonard Shaw had supervised the Lazarus program.
He had also been Michael’s boss.
By the time investigators obtained a warrant, Shaw was gone.
His apartment was empty.
His corporate accounts had been cleared.
His passport had not been used.
He had vanished.
Richard hated that.
“He’ll come back.”
I said.
“You don’t know that.”
“Men like that always think they can fix one more problem.”
Richard looked toward me.
“That sounded disturbingly experienced.”
“I was married to Michael.”
“That explains it.”
I threw a pillow at him.
He caught it.
His reflexes were improving too.
Then Eleanor entered the library.
She looked pale.
“What happened?”
I asked.
She held an envelope.
“This was delivered by courier.”
“To who?”
“Richard.”
There was no return address.
Richard opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed his wrecked car after the crash.
On the back, someone had written.
ETHAN WAS NEVER THE REAL PROBLEM.
Richard looked at me.
I felt a chill.
There was something else in the envelope.
A second photograph.
This one showed me entering the diner with Valerie.
My blood turned cold.
“When was that taken?”
Richard asked.
“The night Valerie gave me the files.”
Someone had photographed me.
Not security footage.
Not a distant traffic camera.
A person had been close enough to follow us.
The third item was a printed page.
It contained information about my father.
His full name.
His hospital.
His stroke.
His rehabilitation history.
My hands started shaking.
“Why would anyone know about Dad?”
Richard looked toward me.
“Was his rehabilitation equipment from Vitalis?”
The question hit me like a physical blow.
I tried to remember.
Four years earlier.
Boxes.
Machines.
Therapy equipment.
Insurance paperwork.
Logos.
Then I remembered the portable stimulation unit used during Dad’s final months.
Vitalis.
“Oh, my God.”
I whispered.
Richard’s face hardened.
“Maya.”
“My father was a Vitalis patient.”
Eleanor sat down slowly.
Richard took the paper from my hand.
At the bottom was one line.
ASK WHY ROBERT CARTER NEVER IMPROVED.
I could barely breathe.
Everything inside me stopped.
My father’s doctors had told us the stroke was severe.
They had warned me his recovery would be limited.
I had accepted it.
I had spent four years caring for him.
Watching his body weaken.
Watching frustration steal his voice.
Watching hope disappear.
Now a corporation accused of suppressing rehabilitation outcomes had his name.
Richard grabbed his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling investigators.”
I stopped him.
“Wait.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“I need his records.”
“Maya.”
“I need to know first.”
Richard’s expression softened.
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
For years, those words would have made me cry.
May you like
This time, I simply nodded.
“I know.”
