Chapter 10 - Nobody Takes My Father
Sloan arrived at the care facility to find two police officers, a trembling night nurse, and her father sitting upright in bed with both fists clenched around his blanket.
The forged transfer form lay on the reception desk. It authorized a private transport company to move Thomas Mercer to an unnamed long-term-care facility across the state. Sloan's name appeared on the signature line, followed by an emergency contact number she had never seen.
“Who brought it?” she asked.
“A man in medical transport scrubs,” the nurse replied. “He said he was working on behalf of the family.”
“Did he touch my father?”
“No. I asked for a second form of identification. He became angry and left.”
One officer took the document as evidence after photographing it and recording the circumstances. The other obtained the transport company's information from the facility's visitor log. Sloan stood beside her father's bed as the officers finished their work, trying not to show him how close she was to breaking.
Thomas reached for her hand.
“Here,” he managed.
“I'm here, Dad.”
His jaw worked against a sound he couldn't quite shape. He tapped her wrist once, then pulled her hand against his cheek. It was the first time in years he had reached for her like that.
Roman remained in the doorway. He asked the director whether the facility's security footage had been preserved, then stepped back while Sloan discussed Thomas's care plan. When she requested a review of visitor controls and transfer authorizations, the director agreed to document every future request through a verified guardian contact procedure.
“Please don't move him without talking to me,” Sloan told the doctor.
“We won't,” the doctor said. “And your father has medical rights of his own. We need his involvement to the extent he can participate.”
Sloan nodded. In her fear of losing him, she'd nearly forgotten how fiercely he valued being consulted.
By morning, Miriam had helped Sloan apply for an emergency protective order supported by the threatening messages and transfer attempt. She also contacted a patient advocate who helped identify funding options for continued rehabilitation. Roman offered to cover the arrears personally, but Sloan chose a documented bridge loan administered through independent counsel, with repayment terms she could actually understand.
“You don't owe me explanations about money,” Roman said when she told him.
“I owe myself explanations,” she answered. “That's how I know my choices are mine.”
He accepted the distinction without argument.
Sloan sat down with the night nurse and asked how she had recognized the paperwork as suspicious. The nurse explained that Thomas had visibly resisted when the visitor approached, and the form's emergency contact did not match the number Sloan had verified earlier that week.
“He may struggle to say everything,” the nurse said, “but he can tell us when something is wrong.”
The words stayed with Sloan. She had been so focused on protecting her father that she sometimes spoke about him as though he were no longer in the room. That night she asked him whether he wanted an additional visitor restriction. Using the board, he answered yes, then carefully indicated that he still wanted the window seat in the dining room and his regular Tuesday music session. His ordinary preferences deserved as much attention as the danger.
The transport company turned out to be nonexistent. Its printed address belonged to a closed storefront. Yet a camera near the care facility had captured the visitor's car. The same gray sedan had appeared at the storage unit. Dante supplied his license-plate photograph to the investigating officer, who took it with visible interest.
Hours later, June uncovered an email chain from the construction project's public-relations archive. It showed Preston's assistant requesting information about the “Mercer family risk,” including Thomas's facility and Sloan's shifts. Although the message did not prove Preston had ordered the attempted transfer, it strengthened the case for continued investigation.
As Sloan worked through the documents, Thomas's therapist called. He had insisted on practicing speech longer than usual. The therapist warned that progress would be uneven, but there was a sentence he wanted Sloan to hear.
She arrived during afternoon exercises. Thomas sat at a table facing a mirror. He took a breath, braced his weaker hand with his stronger one, and formed the words slowly.
“Don't... trust... the wall.”
Sloan crouched beside him. “What wall?”
He gestured toward a sketch she'd brought of North Gate Nine. His finger tapped a retaining wall beside the buried runoff channel.
“Not... built... to hold.”
Leila Morgan returned Sloan's call within minutes. She examined the old cross sections and calculated how much water could collect behind the retaining structure if the predicted weekend storm hit the city. Her voice grew quiet.
“This wall was designed to guide runoff, not contain it under pressure. If the channel really has been blocked, the water could overtop and undermine it.”
“How long before anyone notices?” Sloan asked.
“Possibly no warning at all once the pressure rises. I'm requesting an emergency field inspection right now.”
The city had a serious-weather advisory, with heavy rainfall forecast to begin the next evening. Weather didn't care about whose company held the permit. It didn't care whether an investigation was ready.
Leila submitted her calculations to the city's emergency management office and engineering department, and Miriam filed an accompanying request for immediate restrictions on work near the drainage system. June contacted Harbor Point residents with clear information about the official weather alert, without telling people to ignore local authorities.
Sloan walked to the window of her father's room. She could see a strip of river in the distance, calm beneath a pale sky.
“Dad,” she said, “I think you just helped us stop another flood.”
His tired smile was almost the one she remembered.
Then Leila called again.
“Someone at the city has marked the warning as a duplicate complaint,” she said. “They've closed it without inspecting the gate.”
May you like
Sloan looked toward Roman, who was standing in the hall speaking with Miriam.
“Then we don't wait for someone to be embarrassed into doing their job,” she said. “We make sure the people living there know the truth.”
