Chapter 3 - The DiagnosisI thought I had misunderstood him.
“You mean eventually?”
“No.”
Adrian’s eyes stayed on mine.
“I mean months ago.”
The car moved through Manhattan while the city glittered behind tinted windows.
Nathan handed Adrian another folder, but Adrian didn’t open it.
“After the accident,” he explained, “I fractured two vertebrae and suffered spinal compression. My first surgeon told me the damage was severe but incomplete.”
“So you could recover?”
“There was a possibility.”
“What happened?”
“Three weeks later, Dr. Warren Pierce took over my rehabilitation. He told me follow-up imaging showed progressive nerve damage.”
“And you believed him.”
“So did everyone.”
Nathan turned slightly.
“Pierce had an excellent reputation.”
Adrian’s laugh carried no humor.
“My family paid him accordingly.”
I remembered the man I had seen.
Gray hair.
Wire-frame glasses.
Victoria beside him.
A silver case between them.
“What did the new doctor find?”
Adrian rubbed his thumb across his knuckles.
“Old scans that don’t match the scans Pierce put into my medical file.”
I felt cold.
“Someone changed them?”
“We don’t know.”
“Does Victoria?”
“That’s what we’re trying to discover.”
The driver stopped outside my apartment building.
I looked through the window at the cracked concrete steps, the small grocery store downstairs, and Mrs. Ramirez’s laundry hanging from the fire escape.
Suddenly I became embarrassed.
Adrian noticed.
“You don’t have to look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you need to apologize for where you live.”
I turned toward him.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Billionaires are annoyingly observant.”
“Only unemployed ones.”
I stared.
He smiled.
“The board put me on medical leave after the accident.”
“That’s not the same as unemployed.”
“It feels surprisingly similar.”
Nathan cleared his throat.
“Adrian.”
“I know.”
He returned his attention to me.
“Elena, the police may need to speak to you about the man you saw. Nathan will arrange everything.”
“Okay.”
“And I want to compensate you for the job you lost.”
“No.”
“You interrupted before hearing the amount.”
“I don’t need the amount.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I am responsible.”
“No. Victoria is responsible.”
“You would still have a job if you hadn’t stepped between us.”
“And you might have a handprint on your face if I hadn’t.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“That doesn’t mean you should have to.”
He stopped.
For the first time, the confidence disappeared from his expression.
Something almost vulnerable replaced it.
Then he looked away.
“You really do say exactly what you think.”
“It’s probably why I’m unemployed.”
He laughed quietly.
I opened the door.
“Good night, Mr. Vale.”
“Adrian.”
“Good night, Mr. Vale.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“So I’ve heard.”
I stepped onto the sidewalk.
Nathan called after me.
“Elena.”
I turned.
He held out his business card.
“If you remember anything else, call.”
I took it.
That should have been the end of my involvement.
By ten the next morning, it wasn’t.
My phone began ringing before breakfast.
News websites had posted video of the ballroom incident.
Somebody had captured everything from Victoria raising her hand to me catching her wrist.
MAID BLOCKS BILLIONAIRE’S FIANCÉE FROM SLAPPING DISABLED TECH MOGUL.
Another headline was worse.
JEALOUS HOTEL WORKER ATTACKS SOCIALITE AT CHARITY GALA.
My mother stared at the screen.
“Jealous?”
She looked personally offended.
“Of what? That dress? Her tailor should be arrested.”
“Mom.”
“I’m serious. The neckline was fighting for its life.”
Mateo nearly spit out his coffee.
I tried not to laugh.
Then my phone rang again.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Elena Torres?”
“Yes?”
“This is Rachel Langley.”
I froze.
Victoria’s mother.
I had seen her at the gala.
Perfect silver hair.
Perfect posture.
Perfect ability to look through service workers.
“I think we should meet.”
“I don’t.”
“You misunderstand me.”
“I understood your daughter pretty well.”
“My daughter is frightened and humiliated.”
“She nearly hit her fiancé.”
“That video is misleading.”
“I was three feet away.”
Silence.
Then Rachel’s voice became colder.
“You are a young woman with responsibilities. Your brother attends Hudson Community College, correct?”
My spine stiffened.
“How do you know that?”
“Public information is easy to find.”
“What do you want?”
“A clarification.”
“Meaning?”
“You tell the press that you misunderstood the argument and overreacted.”
“No.”
“I haven’t told you what you receive in exchange.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
Mateo stopped eating.
My mother watched my face.
I walked toward the kitchen.
“I’m hanging up.”
“One hundred thousand.”
I stopped.
Not because I was tempted.
Because people don’t double an offer that quickly unless they are afraid.
“What exactly are you afraid I saw?”
Rachel said nothing.
I pressed.
“Was it Dr. Pierce?”
The call disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Mateo came into the kitchen.
“What happened?”
I grabbed Nathan’s card.
Within twenty minutes I was in a taxi heading downtown.
Nathan met me outside Vale Tower.
Adrian’s company headquarters rose above Park Avenue like a blade of glass.
Security escorted me to the forty-second floor.
I expected an office.
Instead, I entered a rehabilitation suite.
Adrian was between parallel bars.
Standing.
Barely.
Sweat darkened his gray T-shirt.
A physical therapist supported his waist while his hands clutched the rails.
His knees trembled violently.
But he was upright.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then I smiled.
“You lied.”
Adrian lowered himself into his wheelchair.
“About what?”
“You said you couldn’t cross a room.”
“I currently cannot cross half a carpet.”
“But you’re standing.”
“Thirty-seven seconds today.”
“Thirty-seven?”
“My previous record was twenty-nine.”
“That’s eight seconds.”
“I founded a company. I can subtract.”
The therapist laughed and left us.
Nathan closed the door.
I told them about Rachel’s call.
Adrian’s expression hardened immediately.
“She mentioned Pierce?”
“No. I did.”
“And she hung up?”
“Yes.”
Nathan began taking notes.
Adrian wheeled toward a table.
“We found something else this morning.”
He opened his laptop.
A bank statement appeared.
“The consulting company receiving the stolen funds is called Meridian Recovery Partners.”
“So?”
“It has no employees. No office. No legitimate clients.”
“Shell company?”
Nathan nodded.
“Owned through several layers of LLCs.”
“And Victoria’s brother?”
“He’s the registered agent for one.”
Adrian enlarged another document.
“But here’s the interesting part.”
A payment ledger.
Every month, Meridian sent $80,000 to another company.
PIERCE MEDICAL ADVISORY.
I stared at the name.
“Your neurologist.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Eleven months.”
Nearly the entire period Adrian had been told he would never walk.
“Why would Victoria pay your doctor?”
“That,” Adrian said, “is the fourteen-million-dollar question.”
An alarm sounded on his phone.
He ignored it.
I pointed at his legs.
“Therapy?”
He looked annoyed.
“Medication.”
“What medication?”
“Nerve suppressant.”
Nathan and I exchanged a glance.
“What does it do?”
“Controls spasms.”
“Who prescribed it?”
Neither man answered.
I already knew.
“Pierce.”
Adrian’s face tightened.
“The new physician told me yesterday I may not need it.”
“May not?”
“The dose is unusually high.”
A terrible possibility formed.
“What happens if you stop taking it?”
“Withdrawal symptoms. Pain. Muscle contractions.”
“And after that?”
“We don’t know.”
Nathan said quietly, “Adrian has taken it every day since the accident.”
I looked at the pill bottle on the table.
Then at Adrian.
“Did Victoria ever handle your medication?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“She organized it for me after I came home from the hospital.”
Nathan stopped writing.
I stepped closer.
“Who picked up your prescriptions?”
“Usually Victoria.”
“Who spoke to Pierce?”
“Victoria.”
“Who convinced you Pierce was the best doctor?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Victoria.”
A heavy silence filled the room.
Then the elevator doors opened outside.
Eleanor entered without knocking.
She carried a sealed envelope.
Her face looked ten years older than it had the night before.
“Adrian.”
He turned.
“What happened?”
“I had the family security office pull the footage Elena mentioned.”
“From the hotel?”
“No.”
Eleanor set the envelope on the table.
“From your house.”
Adrian stared at her.
“What footage?”
“The cameras Victoria told you malfunctioned after your accident.”
His face lost color.
Eleanor removed several photographs.
The first was timestamped 2:14 a.m.
Victoria entering Adrian’s bedroom.
The second showed Dr. Pierce behind her.
May you like
The third showed them standing beside Adrian’s bed while he slept.
And in Victoria’s hand was a syringe.
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