Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Records
By 2:00 AM, the storm outside had intensified, turning the Westchester estate into an island of shadows battered by wind and rain.
Victor did not go to bed. He remained in his office, sorting through digital archives, bank transfers, and medical manifests from Saint Jude’s Hospital. The digital trail led deeper than Drew had initially realized. The pharmaceutical trials Nora had tried to expose weren't just experimental; they involved long-term neural suppressant agents designed to mimic severe traumatic brain injury symptoms while keeping the patient conscious but entirely locked inside their own body.
A living ghost maker.
Victor’s hands gripped the edges of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white.
Trauma had stolen his voice. That was what the doctors from Saint Jude’s had told him fourteen months ago, right after the crash. The same hospital network that Natalie’s father controlled. The same doctors who had supervised Leo’s post-accident care before Victor brought him home.
If Leo wasn't paralyzed purely by the accident... if he was being chemically suppressed...
The thought hit Victor like a physical blow to the chest.
He looked up at the monitor.
In Leo’s room, the lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow. Nora was no longer reading. She was sitting in the armchair beside the bed, her head resting back against the cushions, asleep.
Suddenly, the bedroom door clicked.
Victor froze.
The camera angle shifted slightly as the door slowly swung open. A slender figure draped in a silk robe stepped into the room.
Natalie West.
Victor’s heart slammed against his ribs. What was she doing here at two in the morning? She didn't live at the estate; she had her own apartment in Manhattan, though she frequently stayed over on weekends.
On the screen, Natalie moved with an eerie, silent grace. She didn't look at Nora, who remained fast asleep in the chair. Instead, Natalie walked directly to the side of Leo’s medical bed.
She leaned down over the boy.
Victor couldn't hear what she was whispering through the microphone—she spoke too softly, her lips barely parting. But he saw Leo’s eyes fly wide open on the monitor, pupils dilated with stark, unadulterated terror.
Natalie reached down and adjusted the IV drip line connected to Leo’s arm. Her movements were practiced, clinical, and chillingly casual.
May you like
Victor didn't wait to see more.
He stood up so fast his chair crashed backward, and bolted out of his office, his boots pounding against the hardwood floors of the hallway.
