Chapter 9 - The Therapist Who Disappeared
The therapist’s name was Emily Ross.
Grant remembered her immediately.
“She quit.”
Dr. Pierce looked ashamed.
“She didn’t quit.”
“What happened?”
“Vanessa had her dismissed.”
Grant stared at him.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because every report went through Vanessa.”
Claire watched the truth settling into him.
Grant had built an international company around diagnostic technology.
He trusted data.
Reports.
Systems.
People with titles.
Vanessa had simply controlled the information reaching him.
“What happened to Emily?” Claire asked.
“I think she moved to Maine.”
Daniel helped locate her that evening.
Emily Ross now worked at a rehabilitation center outside Portland.
Grant drove there with Claire the next morning.
Emily almost refused to speak.
Then Claire showed her Laura’s letter.
Emily sat down.
“I knew this would come back.”
“Tell us,” Grant said.
Emily looked at him.
“You were never there.”
The words hit harder than shouting.
Grant did not defend himself.
Emily continued.
“Noah started communicating with me through drawings.”
“He drew a car.”
“A woman.”
“A wrench.”
“At first I assumed it was trauma symbolism.”
“Then he drew Vanessa beside the garage.”
Claire leaned forward.
“Did he say she damaged the car?”
“He was mostly nonverbal.”
“But one day he whispered, ‘She made Mommy’s car sick.’”
Grant closed his eyes.
Emily continued.
“I reported it.”
“To whom?”
“Vanessa.”
Claire almost groaned.
Emily gave a bitter smile.
“I know.”
“At the time, I thought I was reporting it to his guardian.”
“Three days later I was accused of crossing professional boundaries.”
“My contract disappeared.”
“My references were threatened.”
Grant looked furious.
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
“I tried.”
She pulled an old phone from a drawer.
“I sent six emails.”
Grant checked his account.
None existed.
Vanessa had access to his personal assistant at the time.
Emily still had copies.
She also had something else.
A photograph Noah had drawn.
A stick figure woman beside a black SUV.
Another blond figure bending near the front wheel.
Above the second figure, Noah had written a single letter.
V.
Grant’s eyes filled.
“I failed him.”
Claire looked at him.
“You can do something now.”
Emily hesitated.
“There was another person who knew.”
“Who?”
“The old security supervisor.”
“Marcus Dean.”
Grant frowned.
“He retired before the accident.”
“No.”
May you like
Emily shook her head.
“He was fired the morning after it.”
