Chapter 7: The Wrong Brother
The door was open.
Vera was in the chair by the window, knitting, exactly as she should have been.
Ethan was in the bed, eyes closed.
Dr.
Marcus Hale was standing at the small medical cart near the wall, his back to the room, writing something in a notebook.
Everything looked right.
Except Ethan's mug was on the floor.
Claire saw it before Roman did.
The mug was on its side, a small dark stain spreading across the floorboard.
Ethan's hand was hanging off the edge of the mattress, fingers loose.
"Ethan." Roman's voice cracked on the second syllable.
Ethan's eyes opened.
Slow.
Too slow.
"Tired," he mumbled.
Claire crossed the room in four steps and took his wrist.
His pulse was there — present, steady — but his eyes weren't tracking right.
She turned to the cart.
"What did you give him?" she said to Marcus Hale.
The doctor turned around.
He was a calm man.
He had been calm all evening.
He was still calm now, and that was the wrong answer.
"A mild sedative," he said.
"He was agitated.
It's standard—"
"It is not standard for a hypothermia patient and you know that." Claire kept her voice flat.
Clinical.
The voice she used when she needed to stay ahead of panic.
"What was it.
Exactly."
"Claire." Roman's voice was very quiet.
Very controlled.
"What was the dose," she said.
Marcus set the notebook down on the cart.
He looked at Roman.
"I need you to understand something," Marcus said.
"I have not hurt the boy.
The sedative is mild.
He will sleep for a few hours and wake up fine." His voice was steady.
Reasonable.
"But I need you to listen to me, Roman.
Viktor has been in federal custody for four years.
He has a hearing in eleven days.
Daria Voss has the names of the witnesses who put him there, and she has offered to give them to me in exchange for one thing."
The room was very still.
"She wants the boy," Marcus said.
"Not harmed.
Not permanently.
She wants leverage.
Forty-eight hours.
Long enough for Viktor's attorney to move for a mistrial based on witness tampering.
After that, she returns him."
Roman's face had gone completely blank.
That was worse than anger.
"She approached you," Roman said.
"Three weeks ago."
"And you agreed."
"I haven't agreed to anything yet." Marcus's voice finally showed something — a thin edge of desperation underneath the calm.
"I'm telling you now.
I'm telling you because Viktor is my brother and he is going to spend the rest of his life in a cell and I—" He stopped.
"I need you to understand what that is."
"I understand exactly what it is," Roman said.
He stepped forward.
Marcus stepped back.
"Roman—"
"You sedated my son." Roman's voice didn't rise.
It dropped.
"In my house.
After I trusted you with his life.
To hand him to the woman who pushed him into a river."
"He would have been returned—"
"Get out of this room," Roman said.
"Right now.
Walk to the front door.
Sit down.
Do not move."
Marcus looked at Claire.
She looked back at him without expression.
He picked up his bag and walked out.
Roman turned to his son.
He sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand over Ethan's.
Ethan's eyes opened again, slightly.
"Dad?"
"I'm here."
"Is the doctor gone?"
Roman looked up at Claire.
"He didn't trust him," she said quietly.
"He knocked the mug over on purpose."
Roman's hand tightened over his son's.
"I know," Ethan murmured, already drifting.
"I saw his phone.
He had Daria's name on the screen.
Didn't want to say in front of him."
The boy's eyes closed.
Roman sat there for a long moment without speaking.
May you like
Then he stood up, walked to the door, and said one word to the man standing in the hallway outside.
"Detain him."
