Chapter 11 - THE FIVE-MINUTE PROBLEM
Cassandra denied it.
Naturally.
I called her at 3:37 a.m.
She sounded wide awake.
“What now?”
“You called Miriam at 2:07 the night Samuel died.”
Silence.
“His crash is timed around 2:12.”
“Traffic estimates are not exact.”
Good answer.
Prepared or obvious.
“How did you know?”
“Julian called me.”
I contacted Julian on a second line.
“What time did you call Cassandra after Samuel’s crash?”
Pause.
“I don’t remember.”
“She says you called before 2:07.”
“That sounds possible.”
“How did you know he crashed?”
“I saw it.”
My body went still.
“You were there?”
“I was behind him.”
That changed the story.
“You told me you drove him home.”
“I followed him.”
“Why?”
“He was upset.”
“Did you hit his car?”
“No.”
“Did you see what happened?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Julian inhaled.
“He accelerated through the curve.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any other vehicle?”
Pause.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Dark sedan.”
“Before or after?”
“Behind him.”
“Between you and Samuel?”
“No. It came from a side road.”
“Did it hit him?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you not know?”
“It was dark.”
Evidence first.
“What happened?”
“The sedan pulled close. Samuel swerved. Then his car left the road.”
My pulse increased.
“That was not in the accident report.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell investigators?”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn’t it included?”
“They said there was no physical evidence of contact.”
“Did you call emergency services?”
“Yes.”
“Then Cassandra?”
“After.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know.”
Five-minute discrepancy could disappear if official crash estimate was wrong.
Not proof.
Then I asked:
“Did you take Samuel’s phone?”
“No.”
“Did Cassandra?”
“She wasn’t there.”
“Did the dark sedan stop?”
Silence.
“Julian.”
“Yes.”
My skin prickled.
“Who got out?”
“I couldn’t see.”
“Man? Woman?”
“Woman.”
My breathing slowed.
“What did she do?”
“She walked toward Samuel’s car.”
“And you?”
“I was calling emergency services.”
“Did she touch him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she take anything?”
“I saw her lean through the passenger window.”
Phone.
Maybe.
“Then?”
“She left.”
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
“I thought she was helping.”
I almost laughed.
“At two in the morning beside a crash?”
“I was focused on Samuel.”
“Did you see her face?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
“Hair.”
“Color?”
“Blonde.”
Cassandra was brunette.
Miriam dark-haired.
Avery brown-haired.
Unknown woman.
I asked:
“Car?”
“Black sedan.”
“Plate?”
“No.”
Julian hesitated.
“There was a medical parking permit hanging from the mirror.”
That mattered.
A clinic.
Hospital.
Research center.
The first human subject might have been connected to a private clinic.
I returned to Miriam.
“Did Aurum Clinical Holdings lease medical space eighteen months ago?”
She searched corporate records.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“North Shore Recovery Center.”
Long Island.
Private rehabilitation clinic.
I knew the place.
Not personally.
But Julian had.
His mother spent six weeks there after spinal surgery two years earlier.
Wait.
I asked:
“When was Julian’s mother there?”
Miriam checked.
Eighteen months ago.
My chest tightened.
“Name?”
“Margaret Hart.”
There it was.
Female.
First exposure.
Eighteen months ago.
Julian’s mother had severe nerve damage after spinal surgery.
Could Cassandra have tested an early Aurum sequence on her?
I called Julian.
“Was your mother treated with Aurum?”
Silence.
“Elena…”
That was answer enough.
“You knew.”
“Not at first.”
“When?”
“After my treatment.”
I closed my eyes beneath the bandages.
“What happened to her?”
“She regained movement.”
“Then?”
“Complications.”
“What complications?”
“Inflammation. Cardiac problems.”
“How is she now?”
Long silence.
“She died fourteen months ago.”
I stopped breathing.
Julian had told everyone she died from complications of surgery.
Not experimental gene therapy.
His mother was the first illegal Aurum patient.
She died four months after treatment.
And Cassandra had used her data to build Batch 7.
“You let Cassandra treat you after your mother died from it?”
“My mother had other conditions.”
“You knew Aurum might have contributed.”
“I needed to know.”
His voice cracked.
For the first time all night, I heard something close to shame.
“I needed to know whether Aurum killed her.”
My anger paused.
Not disappeared.
Paused.
“So you volunteered.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
“You would have shut everything down.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why.”
There it was again.
Everyone knew what I would do.
So they removed my choice.
“Who treated Margaret?”
“Cassandra.”
“Who supplied the sequence?”
“She said it came from an archived animal protocol.”
“It came from my founder archive.”
Silence.
“Who gave Cassandra access?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Julian whispered:
“My mother did.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Margaret had something from your office.”
“That makes no sense.”
“She gave Cassandra a drive.”
My skin prickled.
“When?”
“Before treatment.”
“What was on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did Margaret say?”
Julian hesitated.
“She said Elena would understand eventually.”
My stomach tightened.
His mother had possessed material from my private founder archive before Cassandra’s first illegal human treatment.
And she had expected me to “understand.”
Margaret Hart had died before I ever knew she was involved.
May you like
Or so I believed.
📖 Find out how Julian’s mother obtained a drive from my private founder archive—and what her final recorded message revealed about Cassandra’s access to Aurum in CHAPTER 12. 👇
