Chapter 4: The Seam in the Jacket
Back in Room 412, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The large brindle mastiff stood up the moment I pushed the door open, its tail giving a single, heavy thump against the side of the bed before it settled back down. Cole was awake, sitting slightly higher propped up against the pillows. His skin was pale, but his dark eyes were alert and clear.
"You look like you just walked through a brick wall," Cole said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp from days of disuse.
"Something close to it," I murmured, locking the door behind me and pulling the privacy curtain shut around the bed. I crossed over and checked his IV drip, keeping my back to the hallway window. "Dr. Sterling just tried to read me the riot act in his office. They're scrubbing the digital logs of that vial he tried to give you."
Cole winced, pressing a hand against his white-wrapped ribs. "He’s not a doctor. Not really. He’s a corporate fixer with an MD on the wall."
I paused, turning to face him. "What did you get yourself into, Cole? The police have a guard outside, but the administration is trying to bypass regular channels. Why are they targeting you?"
Cole swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he endured a sharp wave of pain. He pointed a trembling finger toward the metal locker against the wall where his personal effects were stored in a clear plastic bag. "My leather jacket. In the interior lining... near the left shoulder seam. There's a hidden pocket."
I walked over to the locker, spinning the combination lock with the numbers from his intake sheet. I pulled open the metal door, lifted the heavy, battered leather jacket from the bag, and carried it back behind the privacy curtain.
I ran my fingers along the heavy stitching of the inner lining. Beneath the nylon fabric, my fingertips brushed against something hard and flat. Using a pair of medical shears from my pocket, I carefully snipped a single thread near the armpit seam and pulled back the lining.
A tiny black micro-SD card fell out into my open palm.
May you like
I stared down at the small piece of plastic, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was what Sterling had been looking for. This was why an experimental, unlabelled vial was brought into a quiet hospital room in the middle of the night.
"That card has every financial wire transfer between Sterling's research fund and the corporate board," Cole whispered, watching me intently. "Proof of what they're doing with the clinical trials. If they get it back, I’m dead before morning. And if you keep it, you won't be safe here either."
