Chapter 4 - The Test Results
St. Catherine’s admitted Noah under another physician’s supervision.
No private Caldwell doctors.
No family recommendations.
No medication from the estate.
For forty-eight hours, Noah underwent tests.
I stayed.
So did Ethan.
On the second morning, Noah was sitting on the edge of his hospital bed when Ethan entered carrying coffee.
“Morning.”
Noah grinned.
“Watch.”
He stood.
Ethan dropped the coffee.
Noah laughed.
“Dad!”
Ethan stared.
Noah’s knees trembled, but he remained standing.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then I helped him sit.
Ethan looked at me.
“He’s stronger.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because he hasn’t taken those pills for two days.”
The door opened.
Dr. Allison Grant entered holding a folder.
“Mr. Caldwell?”
Ethan stood.
“What did you find?”
She closed the door.
“Your son has genuine neuromuscular weakness.”
My stomach tightened.
“But?”
Dr. Grant nodded.
“But it does not explain the severity of the symptoms described in his previous records.”
Ethan’s voice became quiet.
“And the medication?”
“We’re still waiting on confirmatory testing. But preliminary toxicology found compounds inconsistent with the prescription on the label.”
Ethan didn’t move.
“Could those compounds cause weakness?”
“Yes.”
“Pain?”
“Yes.”
“Difficulty standing?”
“Yes.”
Noah looked between us.
“Did somebody make me sick?”
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
Then he sat beside his son.
“We don’t know everything yet.”
“But somebody changed my medicine.”
Ethan took his hand.
“Yes.”
Noah stared at the blanket.
“Was it Uncle Vic?”
Ethan didn’t answer.
His phone vibrated.
Daniel.
Ethan answered.
“What?”
I watched his expression.
“Where?”
A pause.
“Don’t approach him. Send the location.”
He hung up.
“You found Victor?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“One of my warehouses.”
I stood.
“You’re not going there alone.”
Ethan almost laughed.
“You think I’m taking the nanny?”
“I think you’re angry.”
“I am.”
“And angry fathers make bad decisions.”
His expression hardened.
“You have no idea what kind of decisions I make.”
“I know exactly what kind you could make.”
Silence.
Then Noah spoke.
“Dad.”
Ethan looked down.
“Don’t do something bad.”
That landed harder than anything I could have said.
Ethan looked at his son for a long moment.
Then he took out his phone.
“Daniel.”
He waited.
“Call Detective Morrison. Give him Victor’s location.”
He ended the call.
I raised an eyebrow.
Ethan looked annoyed.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Dr. Grant almost smiled.
That afternoon, police arrested Victor.
But the case was far from finished.
Because Victor wasn’t alone.
Detectives recovered messages from his phone.
Payments.
Medical records.
Instructions.
And one photograph.
Ethan showed it to me that night.
It was a photograph of Noah.
Taken three years earlier.
On the back were five handwritten words.
KEEP THE BOY IN THE CHAIR.
Below them was a signature.
May you like
Dr. Pierce.
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