Chapter 2 - The Medical File That Never Existed
Marcus didn't return home.
He didn't go to Hale Tower.
And he certainly didn't call Dr. Adrian Voss.
Instead, Daniel drove him to a private medical clinic forty miles outside the city.
Marcus had never been there before.
That was precisely why Daniel chose it.
Dr. Rebecca Sloan was waiting after hours.
She was a neurologist with no connection to Hale Medical Group, Marcus's insurance carrier, or any physician who had treated him after the accident.
She stared at Marcus's records for nearly twenty minutes.
Then she looked at him.
“Who told you that you couldn't walk?”
Marcus almost laughed.
“Everyone.”
“That's not an answer.”
“Dr. Adrian Voss.”
Rebecca's expression changed slightly.
“You know him?”
“I know his reputation.”
“And?”
She didn't answer.
Instead, she placed the file down.
“Stand.”
Marcus stared at her.
“That's becoming a popular request today.”
“Can you?”
“I did twice.”
“Then do it again.”
Marcus gripped the examination table.
His legs trembled.
Slowly, he stood.
Rebecca watched carefully.
“Take one step.”
Marcus hesitated.
“I can't.”
“You don't know that.”
“My legs—”
“Marcus.”
Her voice remained calm.
“Your body is weak.”
“That isn't the same thing as paralyzed.”
The word struck him.
Marcus tightened his grip.
He moved his left foot.
Barely two inches.
But it moved.
Rebecca immediately stepped closer.
“Again.”
Marcus moved it.
Then his right.
He nearly fell.
Rebecca caught his shoulder.
Marcus stared at her.
“What does this mean?”
“It means we need imaging.”
“Tell me what you think.”
“I don't diagnose billion-dollar conspiracies from an examination room.”
Marcus's eyes narrowed.
“I didn't mention a conspiracy.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“No.”
“You didn't.”
Two hours later, Marcus sat in a dark consultation room while Rebecca studied new scans.
Daniel stood near the door.
Nobody spoke.
Finally Rebecca removed her glasses.
“I want you to understand something before I say this.”
Marcus waited.
“These are preliminary findings.”
“Say it.”
“I see no structural explanation for eleven years of complete wheelchair dependence.”
Marcus stopped breathing.
Daniel looked toward her.
Rebecca continued.
“You have severe muscular atrophy.”
“Expected after prolonged inactivity.”
“You have balance impairment.”
“Also expected.”
“You have neurological deficits consistent with the original trauma.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“But?”
“But nothing here explains why you were told independent walking was permanently impossible.”
Marcus stared at her.
“Could the original injury have healed?”
“Possibly.”
“When?”
“I can't know.”
“Could it have healed ten years ago?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Eight?”
“Yes.”
“Five?”
“Yes.”
Marcus's hands closed into fists.
“Could I have been capable of rehabilitation for years?”
Rebecca didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
Marcus turned toward Daniel.
“Get Voss's original scans.”
Daniel nodded.
Rebecca interrupted.
“I need more than scans.”
“What?”
“Treatment notes.”
“Electromyography results.”
“Rehabilitation assessments.”
“Medication history.”
“Everything.”
Marcus gave a bitter smile.
“You'll have everything before breakfast.”
He was wrong.
At 6:17 the next morning, Daniel entered Marcus's hotel suite carrying a laptop.
His expression told Marcus something had happened.
“What?”
“Your medical archive was accessed last night.”
Marcus stared at him.
“By whom?”
“Unknown administrator account.”
“What did they access?”
“Everything.”
Marcus's stomach tightened.
“Did they change anything?”
Daniel turned the laptop around.
“Worse.”
The screen showed an empty directory.
Marcus's eleven-year medical archive had been deleted.
Every scan.
Every rehabilitation report.
Every neurological assessment.
Gone.
Marcus stared at the screen.
“They know.”
“Yes.”
“How quickly after I stood?”
“Approximately three hours.”
Marcus looked toward the window.
“Then somebody inside my medical network was notified.”
Daniel nodded.
Marcus thought about the threatening message.
The disabled cameras.
The missing boy.
And now the deleted files.
“Find backups.”
“Already did.”
“And?”
Daniel opened another folder.
“One survived.”
Marcus leaned closer.
It was dated eleven years earlier.
Three days after the accident.
The document was incomplete.
Most of it had been corrupted.
But one paragraph remained readable.
Marcus read it once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
Patient demonstrates preserved motor response below injury site.
Prognosis for assisted ambulation considered favorable with intensive rehabilitation.
Marcus couldn't move.
Rebecca had been standing behind him.
She read the paragraph.
Her face hardened.
“This contradicts everything you were told.”
Marcus whispered.
“Who wrote it?”
Daniel scrolled down.
The physician's signature remained intact.
DR. SAMUEL WARD.
Marcus frowned.
“I've never heard that name.”
Daniel typed quickly.
Then stopped.
“What?”
Daniel looked at Marcus.
“Samuel Ward worked at St. Catherine's the week you were admitted.”
“Worked?”
“He disappeared eleven days after your accident.”
Marcus stared at him.
“Disappeared?”
Daniel nodded.
“No resignation.”
“No forwarding address.”
“No employment record after that date.”
Marcus felt cold.
Rebecca pointed toward another line.
“There's something else.”
At the bottom of the surviving document was a handwritten note.
DO NOT ALLOW VOSS TO OVERRIDE REHAB RECOMMENDATION.
Marcus slowly looked up.
“Find Samuel Ward.”
Daniel's expression remained grim.
“I already tried.”
“And?”
Daniel turned the screen.
A death certificate appeared.
Samuel Ward had supposedly died nine years earlier.
Marcus read the listed cause.
Accidental drowning.
No body recovered.
Marcus leaned back.
Then Daniel's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
Marcus asked.
Daniel ended the call.
“We found the boy.”
Marcus immediately reached for his wheelchair.
“Where?”
Daniel didn't move.
“Daniel.”
“Where is he?”
May you like
Daniel looked directly at him.
“Outside Dr. Voss's house.”
