"Jack Mercer," I say. "He's the common factor."
"We investigated him thoroughly. He's clean."
Something clicks. "What does Mercer do for work?"
"He's a mechanic. Works at an auto shop in Decatur."
"Mechanics are exposed to chemicals constantly. Brake fluid, coolants, solvents, degreasers. Most of it absorbs through the skin over time." I look up at Maximus. "Mercer wasn't taking anything. He was absorbing it at work. My sister dated a mechanic who got hospitalized from chemical exposure. The doctors said the toxinsbuilt up in his bloodstream through his skin. Those automotive fluids are dangerous in ways people don't expect."
Maximus is very still. Then he pulls up Mercer's work schedule and cross-references it with the donation dates.
"He worked a double shift the day before his donation," he says slowly. "Overtime repairing a fleet of cars with coolant leaks. Sixteen hours of direct chemical exposure."
"There's your contamination source."
He stares at the data for a long moment. "We've been screening for pharmaceuticals and recreational drugs. Not industrial chemicals."
"You couldn't have known."
"I should have." He sounds genuinely frustrated, the first time I've heard real emotion in his voice that isn't carefully controlled. "Six hundred years and I missed something this obvious."
He looks at me, and something in his expression shifts. "Twenty minutes. You solved in twenty minutes what my people have been investigating for three weeks."
"I had fresh eyes. And personal experience that happened to be relevant."
"Nevertheless." He sets down the tablet and gives me his full attention. "This is why I brought you into the inner circle. You see things differently. Make connections others miss."
The praise feels genuine, which somehow makes it more uncomfortable than if he'd been condescending.
"What happens to Mercer?" I ask.
"We'll rotate him out of donor duty. Pay him severance. He did nothing wrong, but we can't risk further contamination." Maximus stands. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
I follow him through the compound to a wing I haven't explored yet. He unlocks a door with biometric scanning, fingerprint,and retinal scan, and leads me into what looks like a war room.
The space is dominated by a large table with a three-dimensional model of Atlanta built on it. Buildings, streets, and territories are all marked with the same color coding from the maps. But this is interactive; he touches a building, and information displays on nearby screens.
"This is how I manage the network," he says. "Real-time tracking of donors, vampires, feeding schedules, threat assessments. Everything integrated."
I walk around the table, studying the model. It's impressive, the kind of system that requires serious resources and technical expertise.
"How many people know about this room?" I ask.
"Three. Me, Marcellus, and now you."
That stops me. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because if something happens to me, someone needs to be able to maintain the network." He touches a section of the model, and several buildings light up red. "These are Konstantin's known assets. We monitor them constantly."
"You're preparing for succession."
"I'm preparing for contingencies. I've survived six centuries by planning for every possibility."
He's not wrong, but something about this feels significant. Like he's investing in me in a way that goes beyond just utilizing a useful resource.
Before I can process that, an alarm sounds, different from the attack warnings.
Maximus's expression hardens. "The containment wing."
