Chapter 4 - The Signature on the Prescription
I smiled.
It was one of the hardest things I had ever done.
“A rehabilitation facility sounds encouraging,” I said.
Ethan watched me.
“We think Richard needs more specialized treatment.”
“Which facility?”
“Lakewood Neurological Institute.”
I knew the name.
Private.
Expensive.
Highly controlled.
“When was this decided?”
“Tonight.”
“By Richard?”
Ethan’s smile tightened.
“By the family and his medical team.”
I looked at Richard.
He maintained his weak expression.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
“It’s for the best,” Ethan replied.
Richard’s eyes lowered.
Perfect performance.
Inside, I knew he must have been panicking.
“So I go with him?” I asked.
“No.”
That confirmed everything.
“You hired me as his live-in caregiver.”
“The facility provides staff.”
“What happens to my position?”
“We’ll compensate you for the week.”
“How generous.”
Chloe appeared behind Ethan.
“Maya, perhaps you can pack tonight.”
Richard said nothing.
Neither did I.
Because something larger had become clear.
The hidden listening device had worked.
They knew about Dr. Pierce.
Maybe not his identity.
But enough.
I returned to my room at eleven and packed.
Not because I planned to leave.
Because I wanted anyone watching to believe I would.
At 12:15 a.m., a folded piece of paper slid beneath my door.
I waited.
No footsteps.
I picked it up.
Three words.
LAUNDRY ROOM. TEN MINUTES.
No signature.
I almost ignored it.
Then I noticed the handwriting.
Richard.
I had seen it earlier on a rehabilitation form.
Ten minutes later, I entered the basement laundry room.
Richard was there.
Standing.
Not completely.
He leaned heavily against a metal folding table, knees trembling, one hand gripping the edge.
His wheelchair sat behind him.
For a second I forgot everything else.
“You can stand?”
“About twenty seconds.”
“Sit down before you fall.”
He did.
“How did you get here?”
“Service elevator.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“That was unbelievably reckless.”
“I needed somewhere without cameras.”
“How do you know there aren’t cameras here?”
“Because the security system was installed before Ethan moved back into the estate. I designed it.”
I stared at him.
“You designed the surveillance system?”
“The legitimate one.”
“And the device in your room isn’t part of it?”
“No.”
“What are we going to do?”
Richard reached inside his robe.
He handed me a small flash drive.
“If they move me tomorrow, take this.”
“What’s on it?”
“Copies of documents I saved before the accident.”
“Why didn’t you mention this?”
“Because I needed to know whether I could trust you.”
My temper flared.
“I’m risking my job and possibly my safety, and you were testing me?”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“Maya—”
“No. You don't get to apologize your way around that.”
“I wasn't going to apologize.”
I glared.
“Then congratulations. You’ve made it worse.”
Despite the tension, Richard smiled.
Then his expression softened.
“I couldn’t gamble my mother’s safety.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“I think Ethan is controlling her.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
He pointed at the flash drive.
“Those files prove financial irregularities. Not attempted murder. But enough to force an external audit.”
“Then send them to your board.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“My corporate email is monitored.”
“Use mine.”
“You’re willing?”
I looked at the drive.
Then at him.
“My ex-husband spent years letting me believe my contribution to our life had no economic value because I wasn’t earning a salary. His mother made sure I understood that dependence was supposed to keep me obedient.”
Richard said nothing.
“I’m done letting powerful people decide someone is helpless simply because they control the money.”
I closed my hand around the flash drive.
“Tell me who gets it.”
His attorney’s replacement was a woman named Laura Bennett.
She had been hired outside the company and had no ties to Ethan.
Richard gave me a secure email address.
“But don’t send it from the estate network.”
“I won’t.”
“Use cellular data.”
“I know.”
At four fifteen, I went outside claiming I needed something from my car.
The air was cold.
I walked beyond the security cameras near the garage, connected the flash drive to my phone adapter, and sent the encrypted files.
Thirty seconds later, the message delivered.
At 4:42, Laura replied.
RECEIVED. DO NOT DISCUSS ELECTRONICALLY. I WILL CONTACT AUTHORITIES IF NECESSARY.
At 4:57, headlights appeared at the gates.
A medical transport van.
Too early.
I rushed upstairs.
Ethan was already inside Richard’s room.
“So soon?” I asked.
“Schedule changed.”
“Where’s Chloe?”
“Preparing paperwork.”
Richard looked at me.
I gave the smallest nod.
Sent.
His shoulders relaxed.
Two attendants entered.
I watched them prepare the transfer.
Then a miracle arrived wearing an old brown coat.
Dr. Samuel Pierce walked into the hallway.
“Good morning.”
Ethan turned sharply.
“Who are you?”
“Dr. Pierce.”
Ethan’s face changed.
“How did you get inside?”
“Front gate.”
“I didn’t authorize a physician.”
“You didn’t need to.”
He held up his phone.
“Mr. Vance requested an independent consultation through an authorized medical representative.”
I almost smiled.
Ethan looked at me.
“You arranged this?”
“I helped.”
“You’re fired.”
Dr. Pierce raised an eyebrow.
“That might be a problem.”
“What?”
“Removing a caregiver immediately after she requests clarification regarding undocumented medication can create uncomfortable questions.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.”
Dr. Pierce smiled mildly.
“I’m a doctor. Lawyers make threats much more elegantly.”
Richard coughed to hide what looked suspiciously like amusement.
The transfer was postponed.
Not canceled.
But postponed.
Dr. Pierce examined Richard privately.
No Ethan.
No Chloe.
No Eleanor.
Just Richard, the doctor, and me.
Richard demonstrated movement.
Dr. Pierce’s face showed controlled astonishment.
“You have substantially more motor function than your chart indicates.”
“How much more?”
“Enough that I want new imaging immediately.”
Richard handed him the medication list.
Dr. Pierce frowned.
“This dosage is aggressive.”
“Could it suppress motor performance?”
“It could contribute to weakness and sedation.”
“What about injections?”
“What injections?”
I showed him the photograph.
He zoomed in on the syringe markings.
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
Dr. Pierce studied the image.
“I need samples.”
“I kept one tablet,” I said.
Richard looked at me.
“You did?”
I reached into my pocket.
The unidentified pill.
Dr. Pierce sealed it in a specimen bag.
“I’ll have it analyzed privately.”
Then he looked at Richard.
“Until we know what this is, I’m documenting that medication administration must be directly supervised by me or another independent physician.”
That changed the battlefield.
For the first time, Ethan could no longer manipulate Richard’s medicine quietly.
Before leaving, Dr. Pierce printed a copy of Richard’s existing prescription history.
I examined it.
One signature caught my attention.
Dr. Marcus Halpern.
The same doctor Chloe claimed had ordered the injection.
Except Richard stared at the signature.
“That’s not Halpern’s signature.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
“I’ve known Marcus for fifteen years.”
Dr. Pierce looked closer.
“Could be an electronic authorization.”
“No.”
Richard shook his head.
“Marcus always signs his prescriptions with his middle initial.”
This one didn’t.
We looked at each other.
Forgery.
Finally, something concrete.
Later that afternoon, I received a text from an unknown number.
YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THE WEEK’S PAY AND LEFT.
I stared at it.
A second message arrived.
ASK WHAT HAPPENED TO MARISSA COLE.
My hands went cold.
Then came a photograph.
A woman standing beside a bus station.
I recognized her from the employee photo Richard had shown me.
His former caregiver.
Marissa.
She was alive.
And handwritten across the bottom of the image were five words:
May you like
SHE KNOWS WHY HE CRASHED.
---
