Chapter 2 - THE MEDICINE THAT SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN THERE
Leah Mercer had spent most of her adult life learning when to keep her mouth shut.
It was not cowardice.
It was survival.
Her mother had died when Leah was twenty-two, leaving behind unpaid medical bills, an eighteen-year-old son, and a house with a mortgage nobody had realized was three months delinquent.
Leah learned quickly that outrage did not pay electricity bills.
Pride did not repair transmissions.
And employers rarely appreciated employees who overheard wealthy people discussing things they were not supposed to hear.
So when she walked into Adrian Marlowe's bedroom the following morning, she told herself not to mention Camille and Peter.
Not yet.
Adrian sat in his wheelchair near the windows.
That alone surprised her.
He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark trousers tailored around his seated frame.
His nurse, Monica, stood nearby organizing medication.
Adrian's jaw was tight.
"She's trying to poison me."
Monica looked exhausted.
"I am trying to give you your morning medication."
"Same thing."
Leah set down the breakfast tray.
This time the sandwich was golden rather than black.
Adrian noticed.
"Improvement."
"I stayed awake all night practicing."
Monica handed him a plastic medicine cup.
"Pain medication. Muscle relaxant. Antibiotic."
Adrian swallowed them with water.
Then Monica gave him another tablet.
Leah looked at it.
Small.
White.
Scored through the center.
Something about it bothered her.
Her mother had taken dozens of medications during chemotherapy. Leah had organized every pill because her mother became confused near the end.
She knew she wasn't a nurse.
She also knew that tablet looked familiar.
"What is that one?"
Monica turned.
"Excuse me?"
Leah nodded toward Adrian's hand.
"The white one."
"Sleep support."
"In the morning?"
Monica's face tightened.
"It helps with neurological agitation."
Adrian looked between them.
Leah said nothing.
Monica waited until he swallowed the tablet, finished documenting the medications, then left.
Adrian reached for his coffee.
"You think she's incompetent."
"I think I'm not qualified to judge."
"That wasn't my question."
Leah placed his plate beside him.
"No."
"No what?"
"I don't think she's incompetent."
Adrian watched her.
"Meaning?"
Leah considered her options.
She could walk away.
She should.
Instead she asked, "Have you been tired lately?"
He gave her a look.
"I'm paralyzed and trapped in a mansion with people I don't trust. Define tired."
"Sleepy. Foggy. Difficulty concentrating."
Adrian's expression changed.
"Why?"
"Because the medication she called sleep support looked like something my mother used to take."
"For what?"
"Nausea and anxiety during chemotherapy. It knocked her out."
Adrian's fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
"Name."
"I don't remember."
"Leah."
"I said I don't remember."
He turned his wheelchair toward the desk.
A laptop sat there.
"Come here."
"I'm working."
"You work for me."
"Technically I work for Helena."
"I own the house Helena works in."
Leah sighed and walked over.
Adrian opened a medical portal.
"My prescriptions are listed here."
"Should you be showing me this?"
"I'm apparently trusting you with my breakfast. We passed dignity several exits ago."
She ignored the comment.
Together, they scanned the list.
Gabapentin.
Baclofen.
Antibiotics.
Blood-thinning medication.
Pain management.
Bowel regimen.
Nothing Leah recognized.
"Maybe I'm wrong."
Adrian leaned back.
"Search images."
"That seems unreliable."
"So does trusting everyone around me."
That silenced her.
They searched.
After several minutes, Leah found a tablet that looked identical.
Clonazepam.
A medication that could cause drowsiness and slowed thinking.
Adrian's face became unreadable.
"Is it prescribed?"
They checked again.
No.
Leah felt cold.
"Maybe the prescription isn't uploaded."
"Monica documents everything."
"Then ask her."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because if she's giving me something I shouldn't have, asking her would tell her I've noticed."
Leah looked toward the door.
"You think this is deliberate."
"I don't know."
"You need a doctor."
"I need someone I trust."
"Then call one."
Adrian laughed without humor.
"Do you know how many people I trusted before the shooting?"
Leah folded her arms.
"Apparently too many."
His eyes rose.
She hadn't meant to say it.
But Adrian surprised her.
He smiled.
It transformed his face.
For six months photographs of him in newspapers had shown the same intimidating man: hard cheekbones, dark hair, expensive suits, eyes that seemed to evaluate the price of everything in front of him.
The smile made him look younger.
Human.
Then it disappeared.
"I want you to do something."
"No crimes."
"That's an interesting boundary for someone working in this house."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
He opened a drawer in the desk and removed a small leather case.
Inside was an old flip phone.
Leah stared.
"What century is that from?"
"One with fewer digital records."
He handed it to her.
"There's one number saved."
"Whose?"
"Dr. Benjamin Shaw. He was my father's physician. Retired now."
"Why can't you call?"
"Because every call placed through this house is logged."
Leah looked at the phone.
Then at Adrian.
"This is a terrible idea."
"Probably."
"I could lose my job."
"Probably."
"You say that too comfortably."
"I'll triple your salary."
"No."
That stopped him.
Adrian was apparently unfamiliar with people rejecting money.
Leah continued.
"If I'm helping you, I'm helping because someone may be messing with your medication. Not because you bought me."
His expression cooled.
"I wasn't buying you."
"Good."
She took the phone.
"Then don't act surprised when money isn't the answer."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Adrian said quietly, "Fair."
Leah slipped the phone into her apron.
As she headed for the door, Adrian called after her.
"You're not going to ask how much triple is?"
"No."
"Everyone asks."
"Maybe that's your problem."
She left before he could respond.
Later that afternoon, Leah drove her battered Honda five miles from the estate before calling Dr. Shaw.
The old physician answered on the fourth ring.
When Leah gave Adrian's name, he went silent.
"Is he alive?"
The question startled her.
"Of course he's alive."
"I meant—"
Dr. Shaw stopped.
"Never mind. Tell Adrian I haven't heard from him since the hospital."
"He thought you were receiving updates."
"I received one message. Six months ago. It said the family had selected another medical team."
Leah gripped the steering wheel.
"Who sent it?"
"His fiancée."
Camille.
Leah looked through the windshield toward the road.
"Doctor, would Adrian's treatment normally include clonazepam every morning?"
"No."
The answer came too fast.
"Could there be a reason?"
"Possibly, but with his current medications I'd want a very specific justification. Why?"
Leah told him.
Dr. Shaw's voice changed.
"Do not let him stop medications abruptly. Do you understand? Some drugs can cause serious withdrawal problems. But I want to see the exact medication records."
"Can you come?"
"Tonight."
Leah hesitated.
"Don't use the main entrance."
At eight-thirty, Leah led Dr. Shaw through the service corridor.
Adrian was waiting in his study downstairs.
It was the first time Leah had seen him there.
The room seemed built for him.
Dark wood.
Bookshelves.
A fireplace.
A massive desk positioned like a command center.
Adrian sat behind it in his wheelchair, looking more powerful than he had in bed.
Dr. Shaw entered.
The two men stared at each other.
Then Adrian said, "You look terrible."
Dr. Shaw laughed.
"You got shot and I'm the one who looks terrible?"
They shook hands.
For the next hour, Dr. Shaw reviewed every prescription, discharge summary, and medication log Adrian could access.
His expression grew darker.
Finally, he pointed at the screen.
"This medication appears in the administration notes eight weeks ago."
Adrian leaned forward.
"Who authorized it?"
"According to this, Dr. Ellis."
"That's my rehabilitation physician."
Dr. Shaw shook his head.
"No. According to the hospital database, Dr. Ellis died nine weeks ago."
Nobody spoke.
Leah felt the hair rise along her arms.
Adrian stared at the screen.
The prescription had been authorized seven days after the doctor's death.
Someone had forged it.
Someone inside Hawthorne House had been intentionally keeping Adrian sedated.
Then Dr. Shaw noticed something else.
"Wait."
He scrolled.
"Your blood thinner."
"What about it?"
"The dosage changed three weeks before your shooting."
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
"I wasn't taking blood thinners before the shooting."
Dr. Shaw stared at him.
"No."
He looked again.
"You're right."
The record had been backdated.
Leah whispered, "Why would someone do that?"
Dr. Shaw slowly turned the laptop toward Adrian.
"Because if investigators looked at your medical history, this record would make certain complications after your shooting appear natural."
Adrian went very still.
"What complications?"
Dr. Shaw looked at him for a long moment.
"Someone wasn't just trying to keep you sleepy."
May you like
He closed the file.
"They were preparing your medical records for the possibility that you died."
