I looked at Sayer, who was reading the article with a grim intensity.

“Who is Dr. Aris?” I asked.

“Chief of Medicine at Saint Jude’s Metro,” Sayer said, his voice flat. “Our biggest hospital client.”

They handled eighty percent of the pediatric vaccine distribution for the entire state.

Every dose went through our temperature-controlled warehouse in north Denver.

Calvin hung up and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Aris is freezing our next three shipments,” Calvin said.

“He can’t do that,” I said. “We have a contract.”

“He’s invoking the emergency safety clause,” Calvin replied. “He says if the leadership of Northline is mentally compromised, the integrity of the cold chain is at risk.”

“It’s a lie,” I said. “The cold chain has a ninety-nine percent success rate.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Calvin said. “He’s got a board of directors to answer to.”

The snow outside was falling faster now, obscuring the tops of the downtown buildings.

“We need to call the other clinics,” I said, reaching for my phone.

“No,” Sayer said, standing up from his leather chair. “Do not call them. It will make us look desperate.”