Chapter 4
It was the thirty-fifth day of the lockdown.
The institute's work was entering a crucial phase.
The spread dynamics model I was responsible for got the official nod from the Health Commission three days ago.
It predicted the infection trend for the next two weeks and was the most accurate out of all the models in its class.
Victor said during the video conference, "Dr. Harrington completed this independently."
There were more than a dozen members of the expert panel present.
Someone asked, "Catherine? Never heard of her before."
Victor adjusted his glasses. "When she left academia three years ago, she had two papers under review in top journals. If she hadn't stepped away, the first author spot wouldn't have gone to you."
After the meeting, the heads of three research groups added me on WhatsApp.
As I walked out of the conference room, a news alert popped up on my phone.
It was a tech media headline: [Where Did the Most Accurate Prediction Model Come From? An Epidemiologist Who Vanished for Three Years Returns to the Front Lines.]
The article didn't mention my full name. I was called Dr. H.
But in this field, word travels fast.
That night, Damien pinged me on WhatsApp. [Catherine, why didn't you tell me you were going to the institute?]
He was not the type to follow the news. Someone must have tipped him off.
[Was I supposed to tell you?] I replied.
[You're my wife. Of course, you should discuss things like going to work with me,] he said.
[Damien, did you bother to ask me when you boarded the last flight out with another woman?] I shot back.
He didn't reply.
Forty minutes later, he sent another message: [Stop it. When the lockdown's over, and I'm back, we'll talk.]
I replied: [Fine.]
We needed to have that talk, and I waited for him.
*****
The next day, I asked Caspian to meet me at the convenience store downstairs from the institute.
He showed up with a thick stack of printouts. "The shop was sold off for cheap, funds were transferred from the joint account, and forged signatures were used for a second mortgage. Catherine, we've pretty much got the whole chain of evidence now."
"What's still missing?" I asked.
"We need one crucial piece of evidence, the record showing he bought three tickets and then canceled yours. That would prove he was planning to bail from the start, and that the whole money move was all part of the plan," Caspian replied.
"We can find that on SkyTravel Navigator," I said.
"Yeah, but we'd need his permission or a court order to get it," Caspian said.
I paused, thinking it over. "I know his SkyTravel Navigator login."
"We can't use that. It's evidence obtained illegally." Caspian pointed out.
"No, what I mean is, he printed three copies of the itinerary, and the one for the canceled ticket was left at home. The printout has the cancellation stamp and the date," I explained.
Caspian looked at me. "You have the original?"
"It's in my bag. I found it in his shoe box in the closet on the first night of the lockdown," I said.
He let out a long breath. "Catherine, you're scary, you know that?"
I finished my coffee. "Come on, I'm not scary. After three years of being lied to, you kind of learn to watch your back."
As I stepped out of the convenience store, I got a call from Lucia at the neighborhood committee. "Catherine, something's off with Chiara. You need to come back and take a look at her."
When I rushed home, Chiara was sitting on the living room floor, looking pale as a sheet.
It wasn't her blood pressure acting up. Her blood sugar must've crashed.
I quickly gave her half a glass of sugar water, and she perked up after that.
As soon as she perked up, Chiara grumbled, "You're never home. If I keeled over, nobody would even notice."
"Lucia was the one who noticed. She comes by every afternoon to check your blood pressure. Did you forget?" I reminded her.
"I don't need her fussing over me. If you weren't always out there acting like you're saving the world—" Chiara shot back.
"Mrs. Sloane," I interrupted, crouching down in front of her. "Take a look around this place. The groceries in the fridge? I ordered them through the neighborhood group buy.
"Your meds? Lucia from next door shared hers with you. And the mortgage on this house? I'm the one paying it every month. Has Damien ever sent you a single cent for living expenses?"
Chiara opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. "It's not easy for him, being overseas."
"He sold our shop for 320 thousand, moved 148 thousand from the joint account, and took out a 200 thousand loan against this house. Mrs. Sloane, trust me. He's got no trouble at all," I said.
Chiara's face went from red to pale. "That's not true. Damien isn't that kind of person."
"Do you want to see the shop transfer records, the bank statements, and the mortgage paperwork? I've got everything right here on my phone," I said.
She refused to see.
She turned her head toward the TV, her voice shaking. "That's what you want, isn't it? To turn Damien and me against each other."
I stood up. There was no use in arguing.
She knew the truth. She couldn't bring herself to admit it. Because admitting it meant facing one thing. Her most beloved son didn't even spare his mother.