Chapter 2: The Doctor Who Wouldn't Look Away
Naomi arrived twenty-seven minutes later.
She didn't bring flowers or comforting words. She carried a leather briefcase, a medical contact card, and an expression I had only seen once before—during the corporate lawsuit that nearly destroyed Hale Meridian.
That expression meant she had stopped trusting everyone in the room.
“Where's Sophia?”” she asked.
“Upstairs.””
“Does she know I came?””
“Not yet.””
Naomi looked at the white pill inside a small plastic evidence bag. She had brought it herself.
“Good. Keep it that way.””
Maya sat on the sofa, clutching a stuffed rabbit. She had refused to go upstairs, even after I offered to have someone take her to her mother.
Naomi crouched in front of her.
“I'm Naomi. I'm a friend of Ethan's. Can you tell me where your mother lives?””
Maya gave her the address.
“Has anyone threatened your mother?””
The girl nodded.
“Sophia told her she'd make sure we never worked here again.””
Naomi's jaw tightened.
“Did she say why?””
Maya hesitated.
“She said my mom had stolen something.””
“What did she steal?””
“Nothing. She only found the little envelope.””
Naomi exchanged a look with me.
Then her phone rang.
She listened for a moment before answering.
“Yes, Doctor. We're ready.””
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Asha Patel arrived with a portable medical case and a colleague from an independent clinic.
Sophia appeared halfway down the staircase while the doctor was unpacking her equipment.
“What is going on?””
Her voice was sharp enough to make the staff in the hallway freeze.
Naomi stood.
“Dr. Patel is here to conduct an independent medication review.””
Sophia looked at me.
“Why?””
“Because I asked her to come.””
“You should have told me.””
“I didn't think I needed permission.””
Sophia's face tightened.
“Ethan, this is unnecessary. Your treatment team already knows what they're doing.””
Dr. Patel looked up from her case.
“Who is your current treating neurologist?””
“Dr. William Foster,” Sophia answered.
“I asked Mr. Hale.””
Sophia's eyes narrowed.
“He has difficulty remembering all the medical details.””
I felt heat rise in my face.
“I remember my own doctor, Sophia.””
Dr. Patel approached my wheelchair.
“Mr. Hale, I'd like to speak directly with you. Is that all right?””
“Yes.””
She asked about my accident, my surgeries, my rehabilitation, and the medication schedule I had followed.
I answered as carefully as I could.
Then she examined the pill Sophia had been giving me every morning.
“Do you have the original prescription bottle?””
Sophia immediately stepped forward.
“I can get it.””
Naomi raised a hand.
“Please don't.””
Sophia stopped.
“I'm his fiancée. I've managed his care for months.””
“And today, we're reviewing his care independently,” Naomi replied.
Dr. Patel examined the label on the bottle I had taken from my medication cabinet.
She read it twice.
“Mr. Hale, do you recognize this medication?””
“It's what I've been taking.””
“That's not what I asked.””
I looked at the bottle.
“I was told it was part of my neurological treatment.””
Dr. Patel placed it beside the loose white pill.
“Do you mind if I ask you something personal? Have you been experiencing unusual drowsiness, confusion, or difficulty concentrating?””
“Yes.””
“Dizziness?””
“Especially in the mornings.””
“Have you noticed that your legs feel weaker after taking your medication?””
I stared at her.
“Yes.””
Sophia interrupted.
“He's been experiencing those symptoms since the accident.””
Dr. Patel didn't look at her.
“I'm speaking to my patient.””
Sophia folded her arms.
“I'm only trying to help.””
“Then please allow me to do my job.””
The room went still.
Dr. Patel took photographs of the medication labels and recorded the pill markings. She then asked Naomi to contact the pharmacy listed on the bottle and request a complete dispensing history.
While they worked, she examined my reflexes and sensation.
“Try moving your right foot,” she said.
I concentrated.
A faint movement came.
“Again.””
My foot shifted slightly.
Sophia let out a disappointed breath.
“See? He's trying. But the damage is extensive.””
Dr. Patel looked at her.
“Please don't interpret the results for me.””
She asked me to repeat the movement.
I did.
The motion was small, but it was there.
For the first time in months, someone was examining me without immediately explaining why I couldn't improve.
“Mr. Hale,” she said, “I cannot determine the cause of your symptoms from this examination alone. But your medication history deserves urgent investigation. Some of these drugs can cause significant sedation and coordination problems, particularly when combined.””
“Could they interfere with rehabilitation?””
“They could affect your alertness, balance, and ability to participate safely. I won't claim they explain all of your neurological symptoms. We need your medical records and proper testing.””
Sophia stepped closer.
“This is ridiculous. His specialists prescribed everything.””
Dr. Patel finally turned to her.
“Then obtaining the original records should be straightforward.””
Sophia said nothing.
Naomi made the pharmacy call on speakerphone.
A customer-service representative confirmed that the bottle had been filled under my name, but the prescription number didn't match the one in the hospital discharge paperwork.
Naomi asked for the issuing physician.
There was a pause.
Then the representative gave a name.
Dr. William Foster.
Naomi pulled up the records she had received from my original attorney's archive.
“That's strange,” she said.
“Dr. Foster wasn't listed as your treating neurologist six months ago.””
Sophia's face lost color.
“He was added later.””
“Who added him?””
“I don't remember.””
Naomi looked up.
“That's interesting. You remembered every detail of his treatment plan five minutes ago.””
Sophia's lips pressed together.
Dr. Patel asked the representative to confirm whether the prescription had been changed.
The answer was worse than we expected.
The pharmacy's records showed that my previous medication had been discontinued. A replacement prescription had been submitted electronically, followed by a second adjustment three weeks later.
Both approvals appeared under a patient portal account registered to my email address.
I had never accessed that account.
Naomi leaned toward the phone.
“Who authorized the changes?””
The representative explained that the request had come through an account with delegated access.
“Who had delegated access?”” Naomi asked.
The representative paused.
“Ms. Sophia Reed.””
The room seemed to tilt.
Sophia stepped back.
“You're twisting something completely innocent.””
I stared at her.
“Why did you have access to my medical account?””
“Because you asked me to manage everything!””
“I asked you to schedule appointments.””
“You were incapable of handling it yourself!””
Dr. Patel closed her case.
“Mr. Hale, I strongly recommend that all future medication decisions be handled directly between you and your independent medical team. Do not stop or change prescribed medication abruptly without clinical guidance. We need to review the full history first.””
Naomi nodded.
“I'll arrange the records.””
Then Dr. Patel turned toward Sophia.
“I'd also like to know why the medication in this bottle differs from the treatment listed in the hospital discharge records.””
Sophia looked at me.
Her eyes were no longer soft.
“You're letting strangers frighten you.””
“No,” I said.
“I'm letting doctors examine my treatment.””
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then she walked out.
A door slammed upstairs.
Maya flinched.
Naomi put a hand on my shoulder.
“We need to protect the evidence. We also need to find Elena.””
She called the estate security office.
The head of security answered after several rings. When Naomi asked him to check the gate cameras from the previous afternoon, he said the recordings were unavailable.
“Unavailable?”” Naomi repeated.
“Yes, ma'am. The system was reset.””
“When?””
“Yesterday morning.””
“Who authorized it?””
Another pause.
Then the man answered.
“Ms. Reed.””
Naomi ended the call.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then my phone vibrated.
An email had arrived from a hospital records department.
Naomi opened it on her laptop and began reading.
The first file was my accident report.
The second was a collection of rehabilitation notes.
The third was a record of every medical consent form signed after I regained consciousness.
She stopped at the final document.
“What?”” I asked.
Naomi turned the screen toward me.
It was a request for a major change to my medical care, dated four days after my accident.
Beneath the patient's name was my signature.
But I had never seen the document.
And the person listed as my authorized medical representative was not my mother, not Naomi, and not any relative.
It was Sophia.
May you like
Naomi enlarged the signature at the bottom.
Then she whispered, “Ethan, this was filed while you were still unconscious.””
