Chapter 2 - The Lab Result Camille Knew Before I Told Her
I did not confront my wife in the park.
Nine years earlier, I would have.
Five years earlier, I would have put Camille in a car, taken Eli to another, shut down three blocks, and terrified everyone until somebody gave me an answer.
Becoming Lila’s father had changed the order of my instincts.
Not enough.
But some.
I put the vial in my pocket.
I gave the lunch bag to Dante.
Then I asked Lila what she wanted.
“Home,” she said.
So we went home.
Camille sat across from us in the SUV.
Nobody spoke.
Lila rested her head against my arm.
Camille watched me.
I watched the city through the glass.
At the estate, I did not let our family doctor touch the vial.
That mattered later.
I called Dr. Priya Shah, a toxicologist at Emory I had met during one of Lila’s endless consultations. She was the only specialist who had ever looked me in the face and said, “Money does not make biology negotiate.”
I respected her for it.
She arrived at eight.
No entourage.
No frightened assistant.
One black case and an expression that suggested she already regretted knowing me.
“You said urgent.”
I handed her the vial.
She looked at Camille.
Then at me.
“What am I testing?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not how laboratories work.”
“Start broad.”
She sighed.
“Of course you say that.”
Camille stood near the fireplace.
“This is insane.”
Priya looked at her.
“Then the result will reassure everyone.”
Camille folded her arms.
“I have never hurt Lila.”
Priya did not answer.
Smart woman.
Eli had refused to come to the estate.
He also refused money.
I sent Dante back to the park with food, a prepaid phone, and one instruction.
Do not force him.
Dante looked at me strangely when I said it.
“Boss?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“You usually force things.”
“Apparently I’m evolving.”
“Slowly.”
“Careful.”
He almost smiled.
At nine thirty, Lila was asleep.
I sat beside her bed.
Her white cane leaned against the nightstand.
Six months earlier, that cane had been a temporary teaching tool.
Now she could barely cross her room without it.
I remembered the first time she missed a stair.
Then the first time she asked why faces looked foggy.
Then the first specialist.
Rare retinal degeneration.
Possible autoimmune damage.
Unknown progression.
Words.
Millions of dollars bought us more words.
No answer.
Camille stood in the doorway.
“How could you believe him?”
I looked at Lila.
“Quiet.”
“I need to understand.”
“No. You need to let her sleep.”
She lowered her voice.
“You know me.”
I finally looked at her.
“I thought I did.”
Her face cracked.
That one might have been real.
“Vincent.”
“Did you put anything in her food?”
“No.”
“Did you ever use the pink spoon?”
“Yes. It is a spoon.”
“Did you tell her not to tell me about vitamins?”
“I told her not to worry you every time she took a supplement.”
“What supplement?”
“Her pediatric nutritional drops.”
“Prescribed by who?”
“Dr. Hale.”
Marcus Hale.
Our family physician.
The man who had coordinated every specialist.
My stomach tightened.
“Why didn’t I know?”
“You did.”
“No.”
“He mentioned supportive nutrition after the New York visit.”
“He did not tell me you were adding something to applesauce.”
Camille looked away.
There.
Another three seconds.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That is becoming an expensive word.”
She crossed her arms around herself.
“He said you would turn it into another investigation. Another panel. Another private lab.”
“He was right.”
“That is exactly why.”
I stood.
Camille backed up without meaning to.
I hated that.
I did not want my wife afraid of me.
I wanted her honest.
“Was the vial from Hale?”
“Yes.”
“Why is it purchased through your foundation?”
“I don’t know.”
“You run the foundation.”
“I don’t approve every supply order.”
Plausible.
Still bad.
At midnight, Priya called.
“Vincent.”
I knew from her voice.
“Tell me.”
“The vial contains a compound that should not be in a child’s nutritional supplement.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What does it do?”
“I’m not discussing mechanisms over an unsecured call. What matters is repeated exposure can damage visual function.”
The world narrowed.
“Permanent?”
“Not necessarily.”
I closed my eyes.
Those two words nearly put me on the floor.
Not necessarily.
Hope was cruel when you had been starving for it.
“Could it explain six months?”
“Yes.”
“Could it mimic retinal disease?”
“In some patients.”
“Can you prove Lila received it?”
“Blood and urine may help. Hair testing. Medical records. We need proper procedures.”
I turned.
Camille stood behind me.
She had come down the stairs silently.
Her face was white.
“Is it the optic toxin?” she whispered.
I stopped.
Priya was still speaking in my ear.
I barely heard her.
I looked at Camille.
“What did you say?”
She realized.
Too late.
“I said—is it toxic?”
“No.”
I walked toward her.
“You said optic.”
Her lips parted.
“Vincent—”
“I never told you what Priya found.”
“I assumed because of Lila’s eyes.”
“No.”
“Obviously I would assume—”
“What is the name of the compound?”
She said nothing.
“Camille.”
“I don’t know.”
But now I knew one thing.
She knew more than she had told me.
Upstairs, Lila called for me.
I went immediately.
When I entered her room, she was sitting upright.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here.”
“Is Eli okay?”
The question surprised me.
“Why?”
“He looked hungry.”
Even while losing her sight, my daughter had noticed somebody else.
“I’m going to make sure.”
She nodded.
Then she reached under her pillow.
“There’s something else.”
She handed me a tiny plastic cap.
White.
From a dropper bottle.
On top was a blue triangle.
“I hid it.”
“Why?”
“Mommy got mad when I asked what it was.”
I stared at the symbol.
I had seen it before.
May you like
On the letterhead of Moretti Medical Logistics.
A company my cousin Dominic controlled.
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