Chapter 3 - The Trial by Social Media
While paramedics loaded Andrew’s broken body into a medevac helicopter, the digital world was busy executing him.
In the sterile, bright lights of the local hospital's waiting room, Officer Natalie scrolled through her local Facebook community group on her phone. The anger she felt was a physical heat in her chest.
A neighbor named Karen had posted a live video from outside Andrew’s house, filming the ambulance taking Ashley away. “This is what happens when you let deadbeat dads have custody,” Karen had captioned it. “Andrew left his sick seven-year-old completely alone for four days so he could go on a bender. The police just found her starving. I hope he rots in hell.”
The post already had four thousand shares. The comments were a cesspool of mob mentality.
“String him up.”
“I always knew there was something wrong with him. He kept to himself too much.”
“Poor Ashley. She needs to be put in foster care immediately. Her father is a monster.”
Natalie wanted to scream. She wanted to type in all caps, to tell them that Andrew had just been pulled from a dark cellar where he had endured four days of torture just to protect a sixty-dollar bottle of pills for his child. But she couldn't. Not yet. It was an active investigation, and the man who had put Andrew in that cellar was still out there.
A nurse rushed through the double doors of the ICU. “Officer? The little girl is crashing. Her organs are shutting down. The doctors need to know exactly what medication she was missing.”
Natalie sprinted to the evidence bag, retrieving the blood-stained bottle she had taken from Andrew’s hands. She handed it to the head pediatrician, Dr. Aris.
Dr. Aris examined the bottle, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. “This... this isn't right. This is the authentic compound. It’s incredibly expensive and highly restricted. According to Ashley’s medical file, she’s been prescribed a generic substitute for the last six months because insurance stopped covering this one.”
“But this is what her father was bringing back to her,” Natalie said.
“If she had been taking the generic substitute, she wouldn't be in organ failure right now,” the doctor said grimly. “Unless the generic she was taking was completely fake. A placebo.”
The pieces of the puzzle slammed together with sickening clarity.
Someone was prescribing Ashley a fake medication, allowing her condition to deteriorate, while pocketing the insurance money or selling the real drugs on the black market. Andrew must have found out. He must have gone to confront the person responsible.
Natalie pulled out her radio. “Dispatch, I need a background trace on a Daniel Mercer. Now. And I need two squad cars posted at the ICU doors. Nobody goes in or out of Ashley’s room unless I clear it.”
Ten minutes later, a tall man in a trench coat practically kicked the hospital doors open. He looked disheveled, wild-eyed, and soaked from the storm.
“Where is he?” the man demanded, flashing a private investigator’s badge at the front desk. “Where is Andrew?”
Natalie intercepted him, her hand resting near her holster. “Are you Daniel Mercer?”
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“I am. Andrew is my brother-in-law. Ashley is my niece.” Mercer’s voice shook. “I told him not to go alone. I told him Harrison Vance was dangerous.”
“Keep your voice down,” Natalie ordered, pulling him into a vacant consultation room. “Tell me exactly what Andrew found.”
