Chapter 3 - The Shadow Doctor
By 3:00 AM, the investigation had expanded far beyond a domestic abuse call.
The name Eleanor blurted out on the tape—Dr. Mercer—sent shockwaves through the department. Dr. Mercer wasn't just any physician; he was the head of the state medical board and the primary physician who had certified my late father’s 'accidental' death seven years ago.
Dr. Cole sat beside my bed, looking over my father's original autopsy report, which Detective Vance had pulled from the state archives.
"Your father died of an sudden cardiac arrest at age forty-two," Dr. Cole murmured, adjusting his glasses. "No pre-existing conditions. No family history. And Dr. Mercer signed the death certificate without requesting a toxicology panel."
"My father left everything to my grandmother," I said softly, staring at the fluorescent lights above. "Because he didn't trust my mother. When Dad died, my grandmother immediately put his share of the estate into a locked trust for me, managed by an independent firm, payable on my twentieth birthday."
"And two years later," Vance interjected, reading from his notes, "your grandmother suddenly suffered a fatal 'fall' down the cellar stairs of her home. Again—Dr. Mercer was the attending physician who declared no foul play."
The horror of the realization didn't crush me; it sharpened my rage.
Victor hadn't just appeared out of nowhere to abuse a teenager and her weak-willed mother. My mother and Victor had been sleeping together while my father was still alive. Together with Dr. Mercer, they had systematically murdered my father and my grandmother, waiting patiently for six years to harvest the final four million dollars tied to my name.
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"They didn't just hurt me because they enjoyed it," I whispered, looking at Dr. Cole. "They hurt me to break my spirit so I wouldn't ask questions about how my father and grandmother really died."
"Well," Dr. Cole said, his eyes burning with quiet, righteous anger, "they made one massive mistake. They let you live long enough to fight back."
