Chapter 13 - the ledger of thirty two)
Naomi had hidden the ledger for three years.
Not because Claire asked her to.
Because Naomi was afraid of what it contained.
They opened it that night in a secured federal office in Manhattan.
Thirty two names.
Each handwritten.
Dates of birth.
Medical notes.
Family information.
Evan read the first page.
None were Lantern victims.
They were something else.
Every child had been born at one of three hospitals owned by Whitmore Medical Systems.
Most entries contained a strange code.
L1.
L2.
L3.
Nia's name appeared on page seventeen.
Naomi began crying.
Nia stared.
"What is this?"
Naomi could barely speak.
"Your mother was treated at Whitmore Memorial when she was pregnant."
Nia looked confused.
"So?"
"Claire contacted me years later because she found Nia's name in a research database."
"What research?"
Marcus read the notes.
"Genetic screening."
Naomi nodded.
"Without consent."
Evan looked at the list.
"What were they screening for?"
Marcus turned several pages.
"Neural regeneration markers."
The room went quiet.
Evan understood.
"Children whose nerves heal faster."
Marcus nodded.
"Possibly."
Nia stared at her grandmother.
"Why me?"
"We don't know."
Evan looked at his own name.
Page thirty one.
EVAN CLAIRE WHITMORE.
Code L3.
"Why am I here?"
Marcus went pale.
Evan noticed.
"You know."
Marcus shook his head.
"No."
"You're lying."
"I'm thinking."
"Think out loud."
Marcus sat.
"Project Lantern's original goal was nerve regeneration. We collected genetic markers from families who showed unusual recovery after injury."
Evan remembered his childhood.
Broken wrist at five.
Doctors said it healed unusually fast.
Marcus continued.
"Richard wanted to patent treatments based on those markers."
"And my mother?"
"Claire wanted the research open to hospitals."
"Richard wanted money."
"Yes."
Nia pointed at the list.
"Then why hide us?"
Naomi answered.
"Because someone began removing children from the database."
Everyone looked at her.
"Removing?"
"Claire discovered files had been erased. Families relocated. Medical records changed."
Evan felt cold.
"What happened to the children?"
Naomi looked at the ledger.
"Some disappeared."
Nia gripped the table.
"Kids?"
"Families."
Maya Chen had joined them.
She began searching names.
The first child.
No current records.
Second.
Family moved overseas.
Third.
Death certificate.
Age seven.
Fourth.
No trace after age five.
Evan's stomach twisted.
Then Maya searched one name near the end.
LILY VALE.
Age nine.
Mother.
Eleanor Vale.
Evan stared.
"The second child."
Marcus looked stunned.
"Eleanor had a daughter?"
Naomi nodded slowly.
"Claire's photograph."
Evan remembered the red haired woman holding a baby.
"That baby was Lily."
Maya searched.
Officially, Lily Vale died in the same apartment fire as Eleanor two years ago.
Evan no longer believed death certificates.
"Where is she?"
Nobody knew.
The federal investigation moved quickly.
Richard was formally charged with multiple financial and medical crimes.
Marcus surrendered his license and agreed to testify.
Evan's custody was transferred temporarily to his maternal aunt, Caroline, who lived in Connecticut.
The Whitmore Foundation's accounts were frozen.
For the first time, reporters stopped describing Evan as Richard Whitmore's disabled son.
They began using his name.
Just Evan.
Physical therapy began three days later.
It was brutal.
Standing for five seconds became seven.
Seven became ten.
One step between parallel bars became two.
Nia visited every day.
She wore shoes now.
Mostly.
Evan teased her about them.
She removed them whenever nurses weren't looking.
Two weeks after the gala, Evan managed six steps.
Then collapsed into Marcus's arms.
He laughed.
Marcus smiled.
"Your mother was right."
Evan's smile faded.
"About what?"
"Never letting anyone decide what your body can become."
Evan looked toward the window.
His mother was still out there.
Maybe alive.
Maybe dead.
But no longer a saint.
No longer a ghost.
A person.
A person who had made choices Evan did not understand.
That afternoon Naomi arrived carrying a small envelope.
"No return address."
Inside was a photograph.
Recent.
Claire Whitmore standing outside a train station.
Alive.
Older.
Thin.
But alive.
On the back were six words.
DO NOT LOOK FOR ME YET.
Evan held the photograph until his fingers hurt.
Nia stood beside him.
"She knows you're safe."
"Then why doesn't she come home?"
Nia studied the picture.
"Maybe she isn't safe."
There was one more object in the envelope.
A hotel key card.
Room 417.
Boston.
And beneath it.
May you like
A date.
Tomorrow.
