Broken Mirror (8 page)

Ma watched him, her brow furrowed.

“I feel like he’s here.” Victor turned away. It wasn’t a total lie, but false enough to make him queasy.

Ma sighed and said, “That’s a normal feeling. You don’t have to be ashamed.”

Fa, cowed by the great Jefferson Eastmore even after the man’s death, called from the hallway: “He shouldn’t be in there.”

Victor shuffled to the couch, set the tome on the coffee table, lay down, and curled up with a pillow. “I just want to nap in here for a while. Could you turn down the light?”

His ma turned and said to his fa, “I don’t see any problem with that.” She sat on the edge of the sofa. “When you get up, if you’re not feeling well enough to drive, Lê Quang can take you to your apartment.”

Victor’s fa said from the threshold, “I’ll ask Chef Meir to make you a snack for later. In case you get hungry.”

“Thank you,” Victor said, letting his head sink into the pillow. He closed his eyes.

His ma squeezed him and then walked away. Her footsteps receded, the lights dimmed, and the door clicked closed. Outside, his parents’ voices thrummed, quiet enough that he couldn’t make out any of their words. When he heard a car rumble in the driveway, he slid to the floor, crept to the window, and watched his parents drive away.

He found a floor lamp, turned it to half power, and looked around. Something about the desk was wrong. He stepped back, breathed deep, relaxed, and looked again. A MeshTerminal with its vidscreen and type-pad dominated one side. The bust of Admiral Eastmore, his great-granfa, sat at the other corner
—

That was it! The bust sat oddly on the desk. Its four-cornered base didn’t rest smoothly. Victor lifted the heavy marble head by its jaw. Beneath it lay a single brass key.

When he tried the key in the lock on the file drawer, it turned and opened smoothly, revealing folders labeled in neat block letters. He skimmed each paper in the folders, hoping to find anything that seemed amiss. Most were account statements and orders relating to the running of the estate.

In the back, a folder without a label held a dozen sheets of paper filled with checkboxes, fill-in-the-blanks, and unruly handwriting.

Victor examined the papers more closely, finding medical reports from Oak Knoll Hospital, doctors’ notes, test results, and prescriptions from the past six months. However, it was only three months ago, after Oak Knoll had closed, that the papers began to contain the words “heart failure.” Three months seemed an inordinate amount of time to obtain a diagnosis, especially when all the best doctors in the nation worked for Granfa Jeff.

He looked through the records again, but nothing else stood out. There must be something, some clue or connection he wasn’t seeing clearly. He needed more facts. Perhaps there were more electronic records. He tried the MeshTerminal, but he could only access his own cache, not Granfa’s.

Victor sat back and cupped his hand around the data egg in his pocket. He wished he’d gotten the truth on the day Oak Knoll closed, rather than a vague non-explanation and a locked data egg. Maybe the rest of his family could shed some light on what had happened. He could ask them about it without bringing up the M-word.

Victor went downstairs and found Auntie Circe in the large kitchen, brewing tea. Stainless steel appliances and countertops stretched along one wall, while in the middle of the room sat a large marble-topped island with a sink and electric-induction burners.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” She poured hot water in a mug. “I thought you left with your parents.”

“No. I wanted to stay. Auntie, I—I messed up at the funeral.”

“Yes, Mother told me about that. Curious . . .” She took a small sip of her tea. “We all understand. Everyone handles grief in his or her own way, and yours . . . happens to be a bit more dramatic.”

Victor shook his head. “I forgot my dose this morning. I should have doubled up at least.”

“Are you caught up now?”

“I will be in a minute.” He ran his hands through his hair and was surprised when they came away with more than several strands. “I know I need to.”

“Victor, days like today are difficult for everyone.”

“The problem is I’m still thinking about it.” He scratched along his jawline. “Isn’t it a possibility Granfa was murdered?”

Circe looked into her mug. “It seems beyond the pale to me. We’ve come a long way since the start of the twentieth century. That kind of corruption . . .” She stumbled a bit over the word and took in another breath. “It’s something we’ve left behind for the most part. Carmichael excepted.”

Victor shook his head. “There’s something fishy about the timing of it all. Even Granma and Granfa’s dogs seemed to start acting strangely when Oak Knoll closed. And didn’t you see how he looked at the funeral? What’s worse”
—
as Victor spoke he realized he was thinking more clearly than he had in years
—
“I get this odd feeling that I wouldn’t have noticed anything if I had taken my dose. Maybe they’re interfering with my
—
”

“I know what you’re thinking. About coming off your meds. It’s a terrible idea. They’re protecting you.”

“Yes, I know. Protecting me from myself. Protecting everyone else too.”

Circe looked at him with a blank face. “Your troubles today came from the fact that you forgot to take your pills. Any changes in your medication schedule must be signed off by a Health Board–licensed physician. And for good reason.”

Victor frowned. “But when I looked through Granfa’s medical records
—
”

“You did
what
?” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t let Mother know what you’re up to.”

“You don’t think it’s odd it took so long to diagnose heart failure?”

“I don’t.” A faint smile crept onto her face. “People want medicine to be black-and-white, but the reality is that we’re far more complicated organisms than we often realize. And the care we provide is imperfect.”

Victor grimaced. She wasn’t listening to him. Maybe she was preoccupied by her responsibilities with the business. “Was there an autopsy?” he asked. “Maybe if I read the report . . .”

Circe reached out and placed her hand gently on Victor’s shoulder. “I know it helps to talk about your fantasies. But you can’t indulge this tendency. Your reclassification appointment is the thirty-first of May, as you well know. You need to show you’re in command of your senses. We can’t let you go the way of Samuel Miller.”

Victor felt a chill climb up his spine and icy fingers stroke his face. “Of course not. I’m trying. I am. I’m going to pull my life together. My job
—
”

“I’m certain Gene-Us will continue to be a useful outlet for your intellect. Karine speaks highly of you, and, believe me, she can be a powerful ally.”

Karine was Victor’s boss and an old friend of his aunt’s for as long as he could remember. Karine had always treated him with respect but also a frosty formality. He said, “I don’t think she likes me.”

“That’s just her personality. Besides your job, though, Victor, don’t forget to nurture your social connections as well. I saw Elena at the funeral. I’m sure you’re glad she’s back.” Circe smiled and drank her tea in several gulps. “Don’t miss any more doses, okay?”

Victor nodded. “It’s just that it seems like something changed with Granfa around the time he shut Oak Knoll. And he was trying to tell me something.”

Circe raised an eyebrow. He had her full attention. “Tell you what?”

“I don’t know, but he gave me this.” Victor held up the data egg.

Her eyes widened and focused on the black round shape. “What on earth?”

Victor smiled. That was Granma Cynthia’s phrase. “A data egg. It hasn’t opened.”

“He gave this to you? When?”

“The day he closed Oak Knoll.”

She placed the mug on the counter. “Oak Knoll was a loss above all others. If only he’d consulted me.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Hold onto that, Victor. Keep it with you. Our mementos are precious, none so precious as those given by the departed.” She hugged him firmly, then walked away.

Victor lingered in the kitchen after she left. A thought swam just outside the limits of his consciousness. He tried to reel it in, but couldn’t. He would take his dose of Personil as soon as he finished sleuthing, but he wasn’t looking forward to the dopey, gray, and lethargic feelings that accompanied the medication.

Navigating back to the office upstairs was a tricky prospect with all the lights dimmed, but he couldn’t take the chance that his granma would catch him snooping. She would never forgive him for breaking in.

Mounds of furniture blocked his path. Baroque legs of chairs and tables seemed to stretch out to trip him, and he nearly fell while climbing the padded stairs. He grit his teeth and tiptoed onward.

In Granfa Jeff’s study, the medical records continued to whisper to him. There was something he wasn’t seeing
—
if he could just study the pages hard enough, if he could just clear his mind of its fog.

The Personil.

Rather than digging in his bag for one of the capsules, he lay down on the couch and settled his gaze on the herb book. He was tired of living his life in a daze. Maybe it was time to seek out an alternative.

Holistic Healing Network Buys Controlling Stake in Gene-Us Enterprises

OAKLAND & BAYSHORE, 24 February 1991—The Holistic Healing Network (HHN), owned by the Eastmore family, will buy a controlling stake in Gene-Us Enterprises for $2.2 billion AUD, taking the gene-sequencing company private, according to a filing with the AU Corporate Registry. Circe Eastmore, daughter of HHN’s late founder Jefferson Eastmore, will serve as acting chair and chief of the merged concern, which will be renamed BioScan Inc.

Ms. Eastmore is quoted by a local MeshNews agent as saying, “Together as BioScan Inc. we will make use of the latest genetic sequencing and medical treatment technologies. We will remain a health-focused enterprise while also exploring how these technologies can be used in the enhancement and addiction treatment markets. Our efforts fall under the umbrella of a new initiative we call ‘Evolving Together’ that will see us make a multibillion-AUD investment in new and promising research.”

—MeshNews report

The morning after the funeral Victor woke on the couch in his granfa’s office, tangled in a knitted blanket. Hieu had probably covered him and let him sleep. The man had worshiped Jefferson and must have absorbed some of his fondness for Victor over the years. There were three kinds of people in the world: those who hated Victor, those who put up with him
—
he included his parents in this set
—
and a small group who genuinely seemed to like him: Granfa Jeff, Auntie Circe, Hieu, and Elena.

Victor paged through his granfa’s medical records again, some key insight still escaping him. To stop using Personil wasn’t enough. He needed something else to jolt his mind into action. A juice might help. Maybe
—

A shriek from the doorway set his skin tingling. Granma Cynthia stood there in a padded-silk robe, shivering.

“What are you doing in there?” Her tone iced his skin.

Victor hesitated. He could say he was there because he loved his granfa. But she’d heard his musings on murder and wouldn’t believe him.

“Get out!” she commanded. “This instant! How dare you? Jefferson’s office . . .” She breathed hard, clutching her robe’s neckline.

Victor gathered the medical records into a folder. The book of herbal cures rested nearby. He picked it up and walked to the door.

Granma Cynthia stood tall as he approached. She pointed and said, “Are those Jefferson’s? Leave those! You can’t rob me like a petty thief.”

Victor pushed past her and hurried down the hall. Yesterday had strained their relationship to the breaking point. He’d never been a “good” grandchild, not like Robbie, who always won awards and excelled at touting his own accomplishments. But Victor had never stolen from his own family. It seemed every day he found a lower low to sink to.

“What are you doing?” she asked, following.

Victor rushed into her bedroom and then the master bath. Granma Cynthia gaped and sputtered while he raided her medicine cabinet and searched through pill bottles until he found one labeled Vasistatin
—
the one Granma Cynthia had said Granfa Jeff made such a show of taking, which seemed out of character for so serious a man. Victor shoved the pill bottle into his pocket next to the data egg. Granma Cynthia tried to block his way, but he slipped past, hurried down the hall, and took the stairs down two at a time.

Granma Cynthia called to him from the railing. “You’re out of control, Victor!”

Without stopping, he escaped through the front door and into his car, trying to blot out the sound of her outraged voice as it repeated in his head.

“Please don’t let this be a fantasy,” Victor whispered to himself as he drove through the exit gate. The past few days had been upsetting and topsy-turvy. He needed his routine back. Even if he was investigating a murder, he still needed the clockwork normalcy of a familiar environment, a daily schedule, and structured work. But he wasn’t prepared to dose himself. His brain, although broken, seemed to work better off the medication. The world didn’t seem as flat and gray.

Bereavement leave would allow him several more days off, but the last thing he wanted was idle time on his hands. He drove to Gene-Us Enterprises.

The Gene-Us headquarters glinted like a glass and steel centipede curving around itself. He parked in a lot that had been shoehorned into the remnants of an orchard. The boughs of orange trees hung heavy with unpicked fruit. Victor left the herb book and medical records in the car. They would only distract him if they were within arms’ reach.

Victor entered the building. His MeshBit pinged to let him know he’d been registered. Karine LaTour, his supervisor, would receive the notification.

Inside, he found chaos. Instead of the usual nose-down calm he so wanted, his fellow employees scampered and shouted. Their giddy voices suggested that a party was underway. Some enterprising coworkers stood on furniture and hung golden paper lanterns, signs of good fortune. A pack of administrative assistants huddled together. Victor heard the words, “titles,” “reorganization,” and “quarterly,” and then they saw him, ducked their heads, and spoke to each other more quietly.