Chapter 8 - The File Called Lazarus
Valerie refused to explain everything over the phone.
She gave us an address.
A twenty-four-hour diner near Skokie.
Richard could not go.
I did.
Before leaving, I told the night housekeeper I needed medication from a pharmacy.
She barely looked at me.
At one thirty in the morning, I entered the diner.
Valerie sat in the last booth.
She looked nothing like the woman I had imagined during my divorce.
No glamorous dress.
No polished makeup.
She wore jeans, a heavy coat, and the expression of someone who had not slept properly in weeks.
When I sat down, she immediately said, “I’m sorry.”
I did not answer.
“For Michael.”
“I didn’t come here for that.”
“I know.”
She looked down.
“But I am.”
I let the silence sit between us.
Then I said, “Tell me about Richard.”
Valerie opened her bag.
She pulled out a flash drive.
“Vitalis has an internal research division.”
“I know.”
“Not this division.”
She slid the drive toward me.
“The project is called Lazarus.”
I stared at her.
“What does it do?”
“Officially, it studies adaptive motor rehabilitation.”
“And unofficially?”
Valerie looked around.
“Patient suppression.”
I frowned.
She explained that certain Vitalis devices collected enormous amounts of patient movement data.
That data could be altered.
Thresholds could be changed.
Electrical stimulation could be deliberately reduced.
Reports could be manipulated to show no progress even when a patient was improving.
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
My stomach turned.
“Rehabilitation companies get paid differently depending on patient classifications.”
“Yes.”
“And some corporate buyers profit more when patients remain dependent longer.”
I stared at her.
“You’re telling me Vitalis was helping facilities keep people disabled on paper?”
“I’m telling you I found evidence suggesting exactly that.”
My hands became cold.
“And Richard?”
“Richard discovered irregularities during contract negotiations.”
“Who knew?”
“Michael.”
I closed my eyes.
Valerie rushed forward.
“He wasn’t running Lazarus.”
“That helps enormously.”
“I’m not defending him.”
“It sounds like you are.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
She leaned closer.
“Michael discovered what was happening after Richard demanded an audit.”
“What did he do?”
“He panicked.”
“Did he report it?”
“No.”
Of course not.
“He warned his boss.”
“And?”
“The next week, Richard crashed.”
My throat tightened.
Valerie pushed the flash drive toward me.
“I copied everything I could.”
“Why?”
“Because after the crash, they celebrated.”
I stared at her.
“Celebrated?”
“One executive said the Vance problem had solved itself.”
Valerie’s eyes filled.
“I should have gone to the police that day.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
I thought of Eleanor.
Fear seemed to be the currency holding every guilty person together.
“Where does Ethan fit?”
Valerie shook her head.
“I don’t know exactly.”
“But?”
“But his name appears on payments routed through a consulting company connected to Vitalis.”
“How much?”
“Over two million dollars.”
I felt sick.
Valerie reached into her bag again.
This time, she gave me a photograph.
It showed Michael entering a restaurant with Ethan.
The timestamp was six days before Richard’s crash.
I stared at it.
“What did Michael know?”
Valerie looked directly at me.
“You need to ask him.”
I stood.
She grabbed my sleeve.
“Maya.”
I looked down.
“Be careful.”
“You’re the second person to tell me that today.”
“No.”
Her face had gone pale.
“I mean right now.”
She pointed through the window.
A black SUV had just pulled into the diner parking lot.
Two men stepped out.
May you like
Valerie whispered.
“They followed me.”
