He frowned.
“Why would that matter?”
“Because if the first question is who’s liable, people may stop asking what happened.”
He stared.
Then called another number.
“Independent industrial hygienist. No legal reporting line.”
Better.
Dr. Reeves clearly hated being excluded.
He stood near the staircase.
“This still doesn’t explain everything.”
“I agree,” I said.
He looked surprised.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we tearing apart ventilation?”
“Because if we find something irrelevant, we cross it off.”
He studied me differently.
Not respect.
Not yet.
Maybe less contempt.
Nathan looked toward his sons.
They sat on the guest-room floor building with blocks.
Tired.
But engaged.
He watched them for a long time.
“Do they always get worse in winter?”
I turned.
“What?”
He frowned.
“They’re worse in winter.”
“Better when traveling?”
His face changed.
“Sometimes.”
Dr. Reeves looked at him.
“You never told me that.”
Nathan’s eyes sharpened.
“I did.”
“
