Chapter 4 - THE DOCTOR WHO WAS AFRAID
I called Dr. Ferris the next morning and told him my legs felt worse.
He arrived in twenty-eight minutes.
That alone told me he was scared.
Normally Thomas Ferris moved with the confidence of a man whose patients waited for him.
That morning, his shirt was wrinkled.
He had missed a belt loop.
When he entered my bedroom, his eyes went immediately to the prescription bottle.
Still full.
I had replaced the missing pills with harmless supplements Mark found in identical gray capsules.
Ferris picked up the bottle.
“You’re taking these?”
“Three a day.”
His face tightened.
“Any new symptoms?”
“Nothing.”
He examined my knees.
Reflex hammer.
Left.
Right.
I deliberately suppressed every movement I could.
Then Ferris touched my foot.
I felt it.
Painfully faint.
But I did not react.
He looked toward the door.
Then whispered:
“Adrian, blink twice if you stopped taking the medication.”
My heart stopped.
I stared at him.
Then blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Ferris closed his eyes.
“Thank God.”
Anger hit me so hard I nearly stood.
Instead I gripped the armrests.
“You poisoned me.”
His face broke.
“I know.”
“You told me I would never walk.”
“I know.”
“You watched me give up.”
“I know.”
“Do not keep saying that.”
My voice came cold.
Ferris sat.
For the first time in my life, my godfather looked old.
“I deserve whatever happens.”
“Probably.”
He nodded.
“I need the truth.”
“You won’t like it.”
“Nothing about this has been enjoyable.”
Ferris took a breath.
“Your accident caused a real spinal injury.”
“I know.”
“It was serious.”
“But not complete.”
“No.”
“Did you know immediately?”
“Within forty-eight hours.”
My jaw tightened.
“And you lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His hands trembled.
“Richard came to me.”
“When?”
“The night after surgery.”
“What did he want?”
“To know whether you might recover before the wedding.”
There it was.
“Beatrice?”
“Not initially.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Richard approached me first.”
“So Beatrice joined later.”
“Yes.”
“How much later?”
“About five weeks.”
The timing matched the wheelchair device.
“What did Richard offer?”
Ferris laughed bitterly.
“Money first.”
“How much?”
“Half a million.”
“You needed half a million?”
“My daughter.”
I stopped.
Ferris had one child.
Emily.
Thirty-one.
A pediatrician in Sacramento.
“What about her?”
“Three years ago, Emily was involved in a medication error.”
My face tightened.
“A child?”
“Survived.”
Ferris continued.
“The hospital investigation found system failures, but Emily had changed one dosage manually.”
“Richard knew.”
“Yes.”
“He had records.”
“Yes.”
“Blackmail.”
Ferris nodded.
“He said if I refused, he would make sure the family received documents making Emily look solely responsible.”
“That could destroy her career.”
“And possibly lead to criminal investigation.”
Ferris looked down.
“I told myself I was protecting my daughter.”
I laughed without humor.
“Everyone seems very good at protecting people by hurting someone else.”
He accepted that.
“What exactly did you give me?”
“A neuromuscular suppressant not approved for long-term use.”
“Why?”
“Enough to weaken voluntary response and distort examinations.”
“Permanent damage?”
“I tried to keep doses below that level.”
“Three pills?”
His face changed.
“No.”
I stared.
“Three pills daily was not your prescription?”
“No.”
“Your name is on it.”
“Forged.”
“Beatrice?”
“Yes.”
The B stamp.
Ferris leaned closer.
“When I noticed improvement six weeks ago, I reduced you to one daily.”
“Then Richard’s monitor showed movement.”
“Yes.”
“Beatrice increased it.”
“Yes.”
“Where did she get the drug?”
Ferris looked sick.
“Richard.”
I swallowed anger.
“Did you know about the device under my chair?”
“After installation.”
“Why not remove it?”
“Richard would know.”
“Why did you drop the capsule?”
His expression changed.
“You think that was an accident?”
I stared.
Ferris almost smiled sadly.
“I saw Nora watching.”
He had dropped it deliberately.
“The note?”
“Mine.”
“Why help me now?”
“Because this was never supposed to become murder.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
Ferris looked toward the door.
“Richard told me the goal was maintaining incapacity through the wedding.”
“And after?”
“He said medication would stop gradually.”
“You believed him?”
“At first.”
“What changed?”
“Beatrice.”
Ferris swallowed.
“She asked me three weeks ago whether a pulmonary embolism could be mistaken for a complication of paralysis.”
My blood went cold.
“She asked what?”
“I refused to answer.”
“Why would she ask?”
Ferris’s voice dropped.
“Because once you’re married and declared permanently incapacitated, she becomes co-protector.”
“Yes.”
“And your life insurance changes.”
I stared.
“What life insurance?”
Ferris looked shocked.
“You don't know?”
“No.”
“Richard amended the executive policy after your accident.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“How much?”
“Two hundred million.”
Beneficiary?
I already knew it would not be simple.
“Who receives it?”
“Vance Family Continuity Trust.”
“Controlled by?”
“Richard.”
Of course.
“And Beatrice?”
“A widow’s settlement.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five million.”
I laughed.
A terrible sound.
“So after the wedding, I’m worth more dead than alive.”
Ferris said nothing.
I looked down at my legs.
For six months, I thought losing the ability to walk was the tragedy.
Now I realized the wheelchair had been stage one.
“Did Richard cause the crash?”
Ferris’s face changed.
“I don't know.”
“Truth.”
“I genuinely don't.”
“Did you see anything suspicious?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The hospital tox screen.”
I frowned.
“I wasn’t drinking.”
“No alcohol.”
“What then?”
“A sedative.”
My chest tightened.
“I had a sedative in my blood before the crash?”
“Low level.”
“I hadn’t taken anything.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Your preoperative blood panel showed it.”
“What happened to the result?”
“Removed.”
“By whom?”
“Richard’s lawyer requested sealed medical handling.”
“And you agreed.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“What else?”
“Your SUV’s emergency data showed braking-system warnings in the hour before the crash.”
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“Record disappeared.”
“Who had access?”
“Vance security.”
Grant Mercer.
Richard’s gray-suited man.
Ferris continued:
“Adrian, there’s something else.”
I almost laughed.
“There’s always something else.”
“The day of the accident, you were supposed to have a driver.”
“I sent Mark home.”
“No.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Mark was removed from your schedule.”
“I remember telling him—”
“You were told he had a family emergency.”
My chest tightened.
That was true.
Beatrice told me Mark’s mother had fallen.
Later Mark said she was fine.
I thought miscommunication.
Ferris said:
“Richard’s security office changed the schedule.”
I stared.
“So they made sure I drove alone.”
“Yes.”
“Who knew my route?”
“Beatrice.”
I felt something inside me go quiet.
Not rage.
Worse.
Clarity.
Ferris took an envelope from his bag.
“Original MRI.”
I opened it.
My actual first spinal scan.
Notes.
INCOMPLETE INJURY. PROGNOSIS GUARDED BUT POTENTIAL FOR SIGNIFICANT MOTOR RECOVERY.
My hands shook.
“Why give me this?”
“Because I’m done.”
“Done how?”
“I contacted an attorney.”
Ferris looked at me.
“I’m going to cooperate.”
“With police?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After I secure Emily.”
“Richard threatened her recently?”
“Yesterday.”
My face hardened.
“What did he say?”
“That I had become unreliable.”
Ferris stood.
“Richard knows something is wrong.”
“The monitor?”
“It hasn’t shown new foot pressure.”
Because I had learned how not to test my strength in the chair.
Ferris continued:
“He thinks the medication increase is working.”
“Good.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“He’s moving the wedding.”
My heartbeat changed.
“What?”
“Beatrice told him four months is too long to wait for your thirty-fifth birthday.”
“The wedding is in eighteen days.”
“Not anymore.”
Ferris looked sick.
“They’re announcing tomorrow that it has been moved to next Saturday.”
Eight days.
Richard was running out of patience.
Ferris left.
An hour later Beatrice entered carrying wedding magazines.
She kissed my forehead.
“I have wonderful news.”
I smiled.
“What?”
“We moved the wedding.”
“To next Saturday?”
Her smile froze.
Only for an instant.
Then:
“Richard told you?”
“No.”
I watched her.
“Ferris.”
Beatrice relaxed.
“Of course.”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“This way you don’t have to wait.”
“For what?”
“To start our life.”
I looked into the face of the woman I once planned to grow old beside.
Then curled my right toes inside my shoe.
“Can’t wait.”
She smiled.
Neither of us mentioned that one of us was lying.
May you like
Both of us were.
The difference was that Beatrice believed she was still the only one who knew.
