The Last Lie

by Dana Killion

  “Did you ever see them together in an intimate situation or was it rumored?”

  “Rumors. But enough of them to wonder.”

  I nodded. “Do you know anything about the financial situation of the company? Were bills paid on time? Are you involved in any of that?”

  “Invoices don’t get paid at the plant. We send them over to bookkeeping at the River North office after we’ve confirmed the order. But Luke did tell me some of our vendors were being paid late. That’s part of the reason we were scrambling to line up new suppliers. Suddenly you’re not on the top of their priority list for shipping if they have to beat you up for money.”

  Interesting. Money was tight. That was new information. “Do you know how long this been going on?”

  She thought for a moment. “I’d say about seven months. We had this big spread in one of the fitness magazines and that really jacked up the business. We’d already been running at a good clip and when the article came out, we had to ramp up even more. Pushing vendors to increase their production. Calling in favors. But if you’re paying your invoices at sixty days instead of thirty, at some point vendors want more than promises.”

  And vendors who wouldn’t ship, meant escalating financial problems. Eventually it was a hole so deep you drowned in your own mess. Many a company had been taken down by success they couldn’t keep pace with. Was Seth in that boat?

  “Did you ever hear anyone talk about investors? Or financial partners?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “We had reports we had to run every month. Inventory, payroll, stuff like that. Luke said it was for “the money guy.” I thought he meant the accountant but I suppose it could have been someone else.”

  “Do you remember hearing a name?”

  “I think it was something like Natell or Nadell.”

  21

  A cold wind whipped at the collar of my jacket as I stood on Wabash Avenue and hailed a cab. The sky was already dark, and it felt as if the first snow of the season might arrive. I was unprepared for the temperature and rubbed my hands together once seated in the back of the taxi.

  My head was whirling just as ferociously as the wind while the car maneuvered over to Northwestern Hospital. Had Olivia’s reference to a money guy named Nadell meant Aaron Nadell, Candiss’s husband? And that Nadell Capital was funding VTF? Shouldn’t be surprising, after all that was his business, but I was struck again by the clubby nature of business dealings and wondering what else might be hidden.

  Olivia also seemed to be corroborating Seth’s assessment that Luke Cavanaugh had been under immense pressure. Pressure that was affecting his performance. But once again Seth had chosen to leave out information that seem pretty critical. Why? Was he simply trying to put VTF in the best light?

  I was getting a picture of a business that didn’t jive with the glossy photos and upbeat media coverage. Financial pressures. Production pressures. Demands for product that they couldn’t keep up with. It wasn’t conclusive of anything, other than being a potential breeding ground for sloppiness, but it did allow me to picture one possible scenario.

  I found my father dozing in his chair when I walked into Lane’s room. She was propped up in her bed, absently flipping through the local TV news with the sound off as he slept. She wiggled her fingers hello. I handed her a fruit smoothie I’d picked up in the food court before coming upstairs.

  “It’s not green. I appreciate your restraint.” She gave me a small smile.

  “It was hard, but I managed to resist.” And to feed her a non-caffeinated drink in the process.

  “How nice to see sisterly bonding.” My father had woken. He sat up blinking sleep from his eyes. I stepped over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Has the doctor been back in?” I asked. Lane shook her head. I looked at her realizing that I was seeing the contours of her face, the shape of her eyes, the texture of her skin with a level of detail I didn’t know I’d ever done before. I was looking at her, really looking at her, hoping to see some sign that my imagination was worse than reality.

  I saw pale skin and bloodshot eyes. Neither were encouraging signs. She seemed so groggy much of the time it was difficult for me to tell if she knew how sick she was.

  “Drink up,” I said. “I’m getting tired of seeing you without makeup.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen anybody around here worth impressing. Other than that cop you brought in. Is he single?”

  I ignored the question.

  “According the nurse, the doctor’s supposed to be back tonight,” my father said. “She said something about having some test results back.”

  A nurse came in and checked Lane's IV. “Dr. Lassiter will be in shortly,” she said. “Do you need anything right now?”

  “How about a triple espresso from Starbucks?”

  “You wish, honey.” She smiled.

  The doctor came in moments later. “How you feeling?” he asked.

  “Ready to go dancing. You wanna join me?”

  He laughed. “Well, your sense of humor is back. That’s a good sign.”

  “Have you gotten any of the test results back yet?” I asked.

  “They’re starting to come in. At this point, I can rule out bacteria. We don’t see any of the usual markers. So that eliminates one possible cause.”

  My father chimed in with questions which Lassiter answered, politely, but never going into any more than vague detail. As the men spoke, my mind was drifting to Jeremy Wolanski. How were his parents handling their grief tonight? What questions would haunt them over the next days, months, maybe even years?

  My family had felt that anguish. I had felt that anguish. I couldn’t let it happen again.

  I pulled my focus back to the group. Lassiter was saying that the balance of the new test results he had ordered should be another 48 hours and that he’d check in on Lane in the morning. I followed him out telling Lane I was going to get a cup of tea, grabbing the tote bag I’d brought with some of the energy drink from Lane’s refrigerator.

  “Doctor, thank you for not going into detail about the toxicology test. I just didn't want to worry them without having something more than a hunch.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. Before he could say anything, Michael rounded the corner. What was he doing here again?

  My face must have shown my surprise. “I just brought someone in to the ER,” he said, as if reading my mind.

  The men shook hands. I imagined Lassiter was as confused as I was about why Michael kept popping up, and whether he was here as a friend or as a cop. While I appreciated Michael’s official role, the personal side was more complicated. He was growing tired of the push-pull of the emotional barriers I’d erected, but I couldn’t set aside my fear of being vulnerable again. I didn’t know if I’d ever really trust anyone again, at least deeply enough for another relationship to develop, or if either one of us had the fortitude to find out.

  “I understand your concern,” Lassiter said to me. “But at some point, you’ll have to tell her. I’m not seeing improvement in her condition, but she seems to be stabilizing. Have you gotten any closer to understanding what might be happening with this drink product?”

  “Not yet,” I said. Michael looked at me quizzically but held his questions.

  “The fact that the lab ruled out bacteria, probably eliminates sanitation issues. I understand the company has brought in new suppliers that haven’t been vetted as thoroughly as they should be. That seems like the next avenue to explore,” I said.

  “I’m doing what I can to get these toxicology reports expedited,” Lassiter said. “But I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that if there’s a link between this product and causing harm to consumers, there’s no way to keep it quiet. We’ll have to contact the Department of Public Safety.”

  “Trust me, if there’s any connection, I’ll be the first one to yell it from the rooftops. Oh, I have some more samples for you,” I said, handing him the bag. “These we
re in Lane’s refrigerator.”

  Lassiter promised to call me as soon as he had more information, then left to attend to other obligations. Michael stared at me, his eyes hard, until Lassiter was no longer within hearing distance. “What are you doing, Andrea? Have you turned this into another personal mission to solve?”

  I said nothing for a moment, gathering my thoughts.

  “If you expect me to sit on the sidelines that won’t be happening. This is my sister we’re talking about. I can’t live with myself if I don’t do everything I can to make sure she stays safe. That’s always been my job. I’ve been her protector since she was seventeen. It’s in my DNA.”

  “I don’t expect you to do nothing. But there’s a point where you have to let the professionals do our job. But since you’re so chummy with the crew over at VTF, I imagine you already have all kinds of information you haven’t shared.”

  The jealous tone in his voice was back, but I ignored it.

  “The professionals didn’t listen to Luke Cavanaugh,” I said. “If they had, maybe another person wouldn’t be dead and my sister wouldn’t be on the verge. From where I sit, I don’t have a choice. But, we could work together on this. I’ll share, if you do. Are you willing?”

  Michael looked at me, his jaw tightening. He ran his hand through his hair as he considered the implications of my request. It was messy, personally and professionally, and neither of us had ground rules to fall back on. “Can’t do it,” he said. “Not if you think we’d be some crime-solving tag team. I have people to answer to, procedures to follow. Bringing a journalist under the tent at this stage doesn’t fly with the guys I report to. I’m all ears if you stumble on something we need to know, and I’m happy to let you be first in line when we’re ready to go public, but beyond that, you need to back off and let us do our jobs.”

  “Not a very satisfying answer, Detective Hewitt.” My first thought was that I was being shoved to the back of the bus, and the second was that he was just following protocol. Not a surprise on either front. We looked at other for a moment, thoughts circling that were best left unsaid. He had a job to do and so did I. Nothing had changed. Nevertheless it stung.

  “I’m going to go.” Michael started to say something. I shook my head. “Don’t. I understand. It’s just been a long day. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  I gave him a quick kiss then headed downstairs to the hospital coffee shop. I parked myself at a table, nursing a cup of tea and an apple. My head was full of questions without answers. I needed to sort through the jumble of information that was starting to surface. Seth withholding information, the financial and capacity pressures that VTF was experiencing, the consequences of Cavanaugh’s grief. It was easy to imagine that circumstances had contributed to a defective product, but these pressures proved nothing about the quality of the drink. Nor did they prove a connection between the drink and the deaths.

  I was also feeling a little bit uncomfortable with how the conversation with Michael had ended. There was so much we didn’t know about each other. After being thrown into a life-or-death situation at the start, he seemed ready to jump into a commitment, while my instinct was to extend the get-to-know-you stage indefinitely. I didn’t know how long he’d be patient with me, but cautious was the best I could manage whether he liked it or not.

  I finished off the last of my apple, capped my tea, and headed toward the elevator with a bag of snacks in hand for my sister and my father.

  While I could tell that my father felt better supervising Lane’s care from the armchair in her room, it was time for all of us to get a decent night of sleep. My guest room was nothing but an empty box so I’d offered him my couch for the night, since I was only a ten-minute walk. He’d declined on previous evenings, but knowing my father, it was likely because he perceived it as an intrusion in my mental space rather than discomfort with the sleeping accommodations. Maybe tonight he’d take me up on it.

  As I rode the elevator back up to Lane’s floor, I scrolled through half a dozen texts and news alerts that had popped up on my phone. The doors opened as I was responding to a note from Brynn. As I turned toward Lane’s wing where the long hallway split, low voices down at the other end pulled at me. The sound was familiar. I turned around. Michael stood, his hands on the shoulders of a pretty blond. Only inches separated them. He pulled her into an embrace and kissed her.

  22

  Are you always up this early?” my father mumbled as I tried to tiptoe past the makeshift bed I’d set up for him in my living room last night. We’d gone for dinner together last night after saying goodnight to Lane and it had gotten late, so I’d convinced him a night on my couch made more sense than the trek to Lane’s apartment.

  The sun was barely starting to warm the sky, but I’d been up for two hours. He was buried in a tangle of blankets on my sofa, Walter purred contentedly on his chest as he spoke.

  “Sorry, did I wake you?” I said.

  “I’ve been up for a little while. Just didn’t want to disturb the furball. Go ahead and turn on a light. We don’t need you tripping on cat toys.”

  “Walter looks pretty happy. I was going to make some tea, but if I move toward the kitchen, he’ll discard you like a dirty tissue. Might even leave track marks on your chest to get to his wet food.”

  My father laughed and scratched Walter behind the ears. He lifted the cat, moving him to the other end of the sofa, then sat up adjusting the pillows behind his back.

  “I don’t have any coffee,” I said, switching on a floor lamp. “I forget to buy it. And Erik took the Nespresso machine when he moved out, anyway.” It was funny how little details of our former life popped back into my mind at odd moments. Things like this didn’t make me sad so much as it reminded me of how drastically my life had changed in such a short period of time. And that the legal details of his estate were far from resolved. “So, your choices are orange juice or tea.”

  “Nothing for me, I’ll get a cup at the hospital.” He paused. “You can tell me, you know,” he said, looking a bit forlorn. The dim light cast shadows over the hollows of his face making him appear aged and tired. “I can tell when you’re keeping something back. You always try to be so stoic, but I can see it. I can see that you’re worried.”

  I didn’t know how to answer. Should I tell him that two people may have died from an energy drink and his daughter might be next? That I’d lain awake much of the night wondering about the woman I’d seen Michael kiss? That I didn’t know if I’d still own Link-Media a year from now? It all seemed too much to worry him with when his daughter lay in hospital bed.

  Stoic wasn’t how I saw myself. Practical, logical, yes. They were qualities that had served me well in my career; in my relationships, not so much. For me, sometimes the only way to move through life was to find tunnel vision on one issue and let everything else be ignored. This seemed like one of those times, both for me and my father.

  “No, I haven’t told you everything about Lane’s situation,” I said quietly. “But only because I’m still not sure what’s true and what isn’t. There’s no point adding anxiety over something that may simply be an unconnected coincidence. I promise you I’m doing everything I can to find out, as is Dr. Lassiter.” I smiled softly and looked down at him, pulling my robe tighter. “For now, the best thing we can do for Lane is to keep her spirits up. She’ll heal a lot faster if she’s not worried, and that’s more important. I promise we’ll talk when I have some answers.”

  He didn’t look entirely satisfied. I leaned over, squeezed his hand, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to go make that tea now, then take a shower. There are clean towels in the hall bath and an extra toothbrush. Dad, she’s going to be okay.”

  My mind was on Lane and on Michael as I ran through my morning routine. Despite my trepidations about a relationship, I was hurt, and I was angry. Now I knew why he kept appearing at the hospital, he was juggling women who needed comforting. Michael’s previous comments about “not sharing
” came back into my mind in waves. What a load of shit. Obviously he was just another man, no different from Erik, who’d lie about anything to get laid, and to hell with who got hurt.

  I stomped around my condo as the sun turned the sky orange, illuminating the Hancock Building outside my terrace. I busied myself with cleaning, email, anything to shift my mind off men behaving badly. Well, off men behaving badly in their romantic pursuits, the others were exactly who I needed to focus on.

  It wasn’t even 7 a.m. yet, so with over an hour to kill before even the earliest of birds was up and functioning, I moved into my makeshift office to clarify my thoughts on the VTF situation. It had been my habit as an ASA to plot out my cases visually on a whiteboard. Seeing the connections between people and events helped me think. Post-its on a blank wall in my empty office would serve the same purpose.

  Right now, I had little to work with, just a handful of people and some accusations. But if the accusations had any teeth and the energy drink was either the cause, or an accelerating factor in the deaths, there would need to be an ingredient or specific contaminant at the root of this.

  I popped open my laptop and went back to my previous search on energy drink health issues, this time pulling up three websites, all by the same law firm, soliciting plaintiffs for a class action lawsuit related to energy drink health issues. The firm was a name well known to anyone who watched late night television or noticed billboards. They specialized in class action legal work and had offices around the country.

  As I’d read earlier, these sites made connections between energy drinks and side effects such as kidney failure, cardiac arrest, and death. The issues circled around inadequate consumer warnings related to consumption levels, deceptive advertising, and effects on the body of specific ingredients such as high caffeine, taurine, and niacin, which could cause liver damage. I shuddered. Class actions were federal cases usually involving at minimum, forty individuals or more who’d been harmed. That meant attorneys were smelling blood in the water.