“We got him.”
William stood in the private lab of the Sterling-Khan Clinic. Maya Khan was holding a spectral analysis report of the hair sample William had stolen from Alistair’s comb.
“Explain it to me,” William said.
“Hair grows about a centimeter a month,” Maya explained, pointing to the graph. “It keeps a chemical record of everything you eat and drink. We analyzed the oxygen and hydrogen isotopes.”
She tapped a high peak on the chart. “If your father had been held in a dungeon in Eastern Europe or South America as he claims, these levels would be heavy. But look at this. These are extremely light isotopes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means for the last ten years, Alistair Croft has been drinking glacial water,” Maya declared. “Specifically, water from the Swiss Alps. And the nitrogen levels? He wasn’t eating prison gruel. He was eating a diet rich in high-altitude dairy and expensive protein.”
William stared at the paper. It was undeniable proof. “He was in Zurich,” William realized, connecting it to the Syndicate rumors. “He wasn’t a prisoner. He was running the empire from the mountains.”