Queller Healthcare was one company in one state doing bad things to good people, but going public would infuse the company with enough cash to take their program of neglect nationwide. The competition was clearly working from the same business plan. Nick had told Jane stories about treatment facilities in Georgia and Alabama that were kicking patients out into the streets. An institution in Maryland had been caught dropping mentally incapacitated patients at bus stops in the harshest cold of winter. Illinois had a waitlist that effectively denied coverage for years.
As Nick had explained, Martin would be the first target, but meaningful change required meaningful acts of resistance. They had to show the rest of the country, the rest of the world, what was happening to these poor, abandoned people. They had to take a page from ACT UP, the Weather Underground, the United Freedom Front, and shake these corrupt institutions to their very foundations.
Which was fantastical.
Wasn’t it?
The truth was that Nick was always either outraged or excited about something. He wrote to politicians demanding action. Mailed angry letters to the editors of the San Francisco Gate. Volunteered alongside Jane at homeless shelters and AIDS clinics. He was constantly drawing ideas for incredible inventions, or scribbling notes about new business ventures. Jane always encouraged him because Nick following through on these ideas was another matter entirely. Either he thought the people who could help him were too stupid or too intransigent, or he would grow bored and move on to another thing.
She had assumed that Laura Juneau was one of the things Nick would move on from. When she’d realized that this time was different, that Andrew was involved, too, that they were both deadly serious about their fantastical plans, Jane couldn’t back out. She was too afraid that Nick would go on without her. That she would be left behind. A niggling voice inside of Jane always reminded her that she needed Nick far more than he needed her.
“Jinx.” Andrew was waiting for her attention. He was holding the Christmas photograph in his hands. He opened the back of the frame. A tiny key was taped to the cardboard.
Jane caught herself before she could ask what he was doing. She glanced nervously around the room. Nick had told them cameras could be hidden in lamps, tucked inside potted plants or secreted behind air-conditioning vents.
She realized now that Nick had removed all the vents. Nothing was left but the open mouths of the ducts that had been cut into the walls.
It’s only paranoia if you’re wrong.
Andrew handed Jane the key. She slipped it into her back pocket. He returned the photo to its place on the cardboard box.
As quietly as possible, he pushed the heavy, overstuffed chair over onto its side.
“What—” the word slipped out before she could catch it. Jane stared her curiosity into her brother.
What the hell is going on?
Andrew’s only response was to yet again put his finger to his lips.
A groan escaped from his mouth as he got down on his knees. He yanked away the material along the bottom of the chair. Jane strangled back the questions that wanted to come. Instead, she watched her brother take apart the chair. He bent back a section of the metal springs. He reached deep into the foam and pulled out a rectangular metal box that was about four inches thick and as tall and wide as a sheet of legal paper.
Jane felt her muscles tense as she thought about all the things that could be inside the box: weapons, explosives, more photographs, all sorts of things that Jane did not want to see because Nick didn’t hide something unless he did not want it to be found.
Andrew put the box on the floor. He sat back on his heels. He was trying to catch his breath, though all he’d done was tip over a chair. The harsh lights did his complexion no favors. He looked even sicker now. The dark circles under his eyes were rimmed with tiny dots of broken blood vessels. The wheeze in his breath had not abated.
“Andy?”
He tucked the box under his arm. “Let’s go.”
“What if Nick—”
“Now.”
He shoved the chair back onto its legs. He waited for Jane to walk ahead of him, then he waited for her to lock the door.
Jane kept her mouth closed as she crossed the balcony. She could hear their heavy footsteps against the concrete, the sharp click of her boots, the hard clap of Andrew’s loafers. His wheezing was more pronounced. Jane tried to keep the pace slow. They were on the first landing to the stairs when he put out his hand to stop her.
Jane looked up at her brother. The wind rustled his hair. Sunlight cut a fine line across his forehead. She wondered how he was managing to stay upright. His face had taken on the pallor of a dead person.
She felt safe to ask, “What are we doing, Andrew? I don’t understand why we had to leave. Shouldn’t we wait for Nick?”
He asked, “Back at the house, did you hear Jasper telling those feds what a good man Father was?”
Jane couldn’t joke about Jasper right now. She was terrified that he’d somehow get pulled into this thing that none of them could control. “Andrew, please, will you tell me what’s going on?”
“Jasper defended Father because he’s just like him.”
Jane wanted to roll her eyes. She couldn’t believe he was doing this now. “Don’t be so cruel. Jasper loves you. He always has.”
“It’s you he loves. And that’s fine. It’s good that he looks after you.”
“I’m not a child who needs a minder.” Jane couldn’t keep the peevishness out of her tone. They had fought about Jasper since they were little. Andrew always saw the worst in him. Jane saw him as her savior. “Do you know how many times Jasper took me to dinner when Father was in one of his moods, or helped me pick out something to wear when Mother was too drunk, or tried to talk to me about music or listened to me cry about boys or—”
“I get it. He’s a saint. You’re his perfect baby sister.” Andrew sat down on the stairs. “Sit.”
Jane begrudgingly sat on the step below him. There were so many things she could say about Jasper that would only hurt Andrew, like the way that, every time Andrew overdosed or disappeared or ended up in the hospital, it was Jasper who made sure that Jane was okay.
Andrew said, “Give me the key.”
She retrieved it from her pocket and handed it over. Jane studied his face as he worked the key in the lock. He was still breathing hard, sweating profusely despite the cool breeze.
“Here.” Andrew finally opened the lid on the metal box.
Jane saw that it was filled with file folders. She recognized the Queller Healthcare logo printed along the bottoms.
“Look at these.” Andrew handed her a stack of files. “You know Father got Nick a job at corporate.”
Jane chewed her tongue so she didn’t snap that of course she knew that her boyfriend was working for her father’s company. She scanned the forms inside the folders, trying to understand why they were important enough for Nick to hide. She easily recognized the patient packets with billing codes and intake forms. Martin routinely brought them home in his briefcase, then Jasper started doing the same when he joined the business.
Andrew said, “Nick’s been snooping around.”
This, too, was not news. Nick was their man on the inside, as he liked to say. Jane flipped through the forms. Patient names, social security numbers, addresses, billing codes, correspondences with the state, with medical professionals, with accounting. Queller Bayside Home. Queller Hilltop House. Queller Youth Facility.
She told Andrew, “We’ve seen these before. They’re part of the plan. Nick is sending them to the newspapers.”
Andrew flipped through the folders until he found what he was looking for. “Read this one.”
Jane opened the file. She immediately recognized the name on the admitting form.
ROBERT DAVID JUNEAU.
She shrugged. They knew that Robert Juneau had been at Bayside. Everyone knew. It was the place where all of this had started.
He said, “Look at the admitting dates.”