Chapter 3 - The Doctor's Secret
Z
The notebook changed everything.
I photographed every page with my phone and returned it to the exact place where I'd found it. The names meant little to me, but several appeared repeatedly beside references to shipping contracts, hospital donations, and a company called Northstar Medical Logistics.
One name appeared in the margin three times.
Alan Whitfield.
I had to resist the urge to storm into the hallway and demand an explanation. Anger had already cost me too much in my life. Three years ago, I had trusted the wrong people because I believed the truth would defend itself.
It hadn't.
This time, I needed evidence.
The next morning, I asked Whitfield whether Everett had undergone any neurological assessments since the accident.
“Of course,” he said without looking up from the tablet in his hand.
“May I see the results?”
“No.”
“I'm his wife.”
“You're a former nurse without an active license. You have no authority to access his records.”
“I have eyes. I can see that his condition changes after your midnight visits.”
His head lifted.
“Excuse me?”
“I've been documenting his vital signs.”
“You have been doing what?”
“Watching him.”
Whitfield set down the tablet.
“Mrs. Kane, I understand that your former profession has become an obsession. But you are not qualified to diagnose a patient, and your presence is becoming a distraction.”
“Then let another doctor examine him.”
“Everett's medical decisions are a family matter.”
“Medical decisions aren't a family secret.”
He stepped closer.
“Your mother is receiving excellent care, isn't she?”
My stomach tightened.
“Leave her out of this.”
“Then stay out of mine.”
He walked past me and closed the bedroom door behind him.
For several minutes, I stood motionless.
He hadn't denied the injections.
He hadn't explained the notebook.
And he had threatened my mother.
That afternoon, I found Leo Mercer, Everett's longtime security chief, watching the hallway outside the ICU. He was a broad-shouldered man in his forties with a face that seemed permanently carved from stone.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“You can.”
“Did Everett leave instructions about his medical care before the accident?”
Leo studied me.
“Why?”
“Because I found a notebook.”
His expression changed.
“What notebook?”
I described the cover and the handwriting without telling him where I had found it.
For a moment, I thought he might order me out of the house.
Instead, he looked toward Everett's door.
“His mother gave him that notebook when he was sixteen,” he said. “He carried it everywhere.”
“Did you know about the message?”
“No.”
“Did you know he was worried about someone?”
Leo rubbed his jaw.
“Everett didn't trust many people. Lately, he trusted almost no one.”
“Why?”
“Because money makes enemies. Power makes friends who are worse.”
He hesitated, then lowered his voice.
“His car went off the road on a dry stretch of highway. The police called it a single-vehicle accident. Everett's driver died at the scene. The security footage from the road disappeared before investigators could retrieve it.”
“Who controlled the investigation?”
“Sterling.”
I looked through the glass at Everett.
“Do you think his accident was arranged?”
“I think someone wanted him out of the way.”
“Would you help me prove it?”
Leo's gaze hardened.
“If I do, and you're wrong, this family will destroy you.”
“They already destroyed me once.”
Something in my voice made him look away.
“Then don't be wrong,” he said.
That evening, Leo brought me a sealed envelope. Inside were copies of the original accident report, a photograph of Everett's damaged car, and a list of medical supplies delivered to the mansion during the last eight months.
One supplier had delivered a sedative under a false billing code.
The shipment had been authorized by Northstar Medical Logistics.
May you like
At the bottom of the invoice was the signature of a company director.
Sterling Kane.
