Chapter 2 - The Rope That Should Not Have FailedEthan refused the helicopter.
That frightened Claire more than if he had screamed.
“I can walk.”
“You just dropped twenty feet.”
“Eight.”
“The first rope gave you six. The backup gave you another twelve before I arrested it.”
“Still alive.”
“That isn’t the medical standard I usually use.”
They stood on the staging ledge forty minutes later.
Ethan’s shoulder was bruised and his ribs hurt when he breathed, but nothing appeared broken.
Nia had remained close enough to look concerned without touching him.
Marcus stayed farther away.
Claire noticed both things.
She also noticed the missing section of red rope.
“What happened to the failed line?” she asked.
Nia turned.
“What?”
“The damaged rope.”
“It fell.”
“No.”
Claire removed her helmet.
“The section below the break fell. The upper section was still attached to the anchor.”
Nia’s face remained smooth.
“Then maybe one of the rescuers removed it.”
Claire looked toward the guide team.
Nobody answered.
Ethan lowered himself onto a rock.
“Nia, did you see anything?”
She looked at him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she crouched beside him.
“I saw you fall.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I saw the rope break.”
“You were above me.”
“Yes.”
“Did it look damaged?”
Nia’s expression changed just enough.
Hurt.
“You think I inspected your rope while you were falling?”
Ethan looked away.
“Forget it.”
Claire did not.
She walked toward the anchor and examined the remaining line.
The break was no longer there.
Someone had unclipped and removed the section.
Her stomach tightened.
Mountain accidents were messy.
People panicked.
Equipment scattered.
But expensive climbing rope did not walk away.
She opened her pack and removed a transparent evidence sleeve she normally used for damaged safety gear after serious incidents.
Thirty feet below the ledge, part of the rope had landed across a narrow shelf.
Claire rappelled down.
She recovered it herself.
When she climbed back, Marcus was waiting.
“Company insurance will want that.”
Claire put the rope inside her pack.
“They can request it.”
“I handle risk management for the Blake family.”
“You’re a photographer today.”
Marcus smiled.
It never reached his eyes.
“I wear several hats.”
“So do I.”
Claire zipped the compartment shut.
Marcus’s smile vanished.
At the mountain lodge that evening, Ethan sat near the fireplace with ice pressed against his shoulder.
Snow had started outside.
Nia placed a glass of bourbon beside him.
“Dad would say the mountain rejected you.”
Ethan almost laughed.
Their father, Victor Blake, had said that after Ethan’s first failed climb when he was sixteen.
Then Victor had bought him better equipment.
Victor solved affection with money.
It was one of the few things Nia and Ethan had agreed on.
Ethan looked at his sister.
“Were you scared?”
“Terrified.”
“You didn’t look terrified.”
Nia went still.
“What was I supposed to look like?”
“I don’t know.”
“A hysterical woman?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“No, Ethan. You never have to say things. People usually say them for you.”
The bitterness arrived too quickly.
Ethan heard it.
So did Nia.
She stood.
“I almost watched my brother die today. Forgive me if I’m not performing grief correctly.”
“Nia—”
“Get some sleep.”
She walked away.
Marcus was waiting in the hallway.
“You froze,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“Claire noticed.”
“I know.”
“She has the rope.”
Nia’s eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“She recovered it.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“You said it would look natural.”
“It should have.”
“Well, it doesn’t if someone examines those fibers.”
Nia looked toward Ethan’s closed door.
For the first time since the cliff, true fear entered her face.
“What do we do?”
Marcus answered immediately.
“We make sure nobody examines them.”
Downstairs, Claire sat at the hotel bar with the evidence bag on the chair beside her.
She photographed the rope.
Then she zoomed in.
Natural failure from abrasion created fuzzing, heat glazing, progressive wear.
This break had those features.
But underneath them, near the center of the rope, several fibers ended in something much cleaner.
Straight edges.
Parallel cuts.
Claire took another photograph.
She sent it to an old colleague at a climbing-equipment laboratory in Boulder.
Her message contained only six words.
Tell me I’m imagining this.
The response arrived eleven minutes later.
Don’t let anyone touch that rope.
Claire looked across the lobby.
Nia had disappeared.
Marcus had disappeared.
Ethan remained upstairs.
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Claire reached for the evidence bag.
The chair beside her was empty.
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