Chapter 3 - THE LIE INSIDE HIS EYES
Grant did not move.
Beside him, Hannah gripped the edge of her chair.
Dr. Park looked from the retinal scans to Grant and back again as though she expected the images to change if she stared long enough.
“Answer me,” Grant said.
Evelyn Park removed her glasses.
“I need to be precise.”
“Be precise.”
“Your eyes were seriously injured. There is scarring, particularly in the left eye. I’m also seeing evidence consistent with previous traumatic optic neuropathy. But what I am not seeing is complete destruction.”
Grant felt the room tilt beneath him.
“They told me both optic nerves were dead.”
“They aren’t.”
The words landed harder than any bullet Grant had ever taken.
Hannah whispered, “What about his visual cortex?”
“I want imaging and visual evoked-response testing before I say anything definitive.”
Grant’s knuckles went white.
“Can I see?”
Dr. Park hesitated.
“You already appear to have some light perception.”
“Can. I. See.”
“Possibly more than you currently believe you can.”
Grant stood.
His chair rolled backward and struck the wall.
For five years, he had mourned sunlight.
Caroline’s face.
Emma’s smile.
His own reflection.
For five years, he had learned to count steps and identify men by breathing patterns.
For five years, he had accepted that the last thing he would ever see was fire.
And now a doctor was telling him someone may have stolen years of vision from him.
Grant turned toward Hannah’s breathing.
“The drops.”
Dr. Park looked puzzled.
“What drops?”
Hannah explained.
Weekly administration.
Burning sensation.
Headaches.
Complete loss of whatever faint light perception Grant experienced before the medication.
Dr. Park’s expression hardened.
“Do you know the drug?”
“No,” Hannah said. “Hale wouldn’t tell us.”
“We need a sample.”
“I can get one,” Grant said.
Hannah turned sharply.
“No.”
Grant’s eyebrows lifted.
“No?”
“If Hale suspects you’re investigating, he destroys everything. Medication records. files. Whatever else he’s hiding.”
Grant stared toward her voice.
“You’re telling me how to conduct an investigation now?”
“I’m telling you how frightened people behave.”
Dr. Park looked between them.
“She’s right.”
Grant was becoming tired of women being right before breakfast.
Four hours of testing followed.
He hated every second.
Not because it hurt.
Because each machine produced another piece of evidence that his life had been built on a lie.
His retinas responded.
His pupils responded.
His brain showed measurable response to visual stimuli.
At one point, Dr. Park placed him in a darkened room and flashed a bright panel near his right side.
Grant lifted his hand.
“Right.”
Hannah gasped.
Grant froze.
Dr. Park flashed it on the left.
“Left.”
Again.
Higher.
“Up.”
Grant’s voice broke on the word.
Nobody said anything.
Then something small touched his hand.
Lucy.
Hannah had brought her because they could not risk leaving her at the mansion without explaining why Hannah was gone before dawn.
The toddler slipped her fingers between Grant’s.
“You found it.”
Grant swallowed.
“It wasn’t seeing.”
Dr. Park spoke gently.
“It was the beginning of seeing.”
Grant turned his face away.
Hope terrified him more than darkness ever had.
By noon, Dr. Park had preliminary conclusions.
Grant’s original injuries had been severe.
Complete blindness immediately after the explosion was medically plausible.
Permanent blindness was not something she believed should have been declared with certainty based on the documents Grant supplied.
More disturbing, several pages from his original hospital records appeared inconsistent.
One scan referenced damage not visible on another image taken twenty minutes earlier.
An operative note listed a surgeon who had not been in New York that day.
And three original image files were missing.
“Forgery?” Grant asked.
“I’m saying I would have serious questions.”
“Would Hale know?”
“If he supervised your care, absolutely.”
Grant’s phone vibrated.
Only three people had the number.
Daniel Cross.
Grant ignored it.
It rang again.
Then again.
“Problem?” Hannah asked.
“My lieutenant.”
“He knows you’re gone?”
“He knows I canceled two meetings.”
Grant answered.
“What?”
Daniel’s voice came through sharply.
“Where are you?”
Grant glanced toward Hannah.
“Why?”
“We’ve got a problem at Pier 9. Russo shipment disappeared.”
“Handle it.”
“I am handling it. I asked where you are.”
Grant became very still.
Daniel had worked beside him for fourteen years.
After the explosion, Daniel had become Grant’s eyes.
He read contracts aloud.
Described men entering rooms.
Managed routes.
Handled meetings Grant no longer attended.
And five years ago, Daniel had been the person who told Grant Caroline and Emma were dead.
“I’m getting breakfast,” Grant said.
Silence.
“At noon?”
“I slept late.”
Another pause.
Daniel recovered.
“Right. I’ll see you tonight.”
The call ended.
Grant lowered the phone.
Hannah had heard Daniel’s suspicion.
“You trust him?” she asked.
“I did.”
“Past tense?”
Grant thought of Hale arriving forty-five minutes early.
Daniel calling repeatedly because Grant had changed his routine.
Two men who had stood closest to him after the explosion.
“I don’t know yet.”
Back at the mansion, Grant returned to his old habits.
He walked eighty-two steps from his bedroom to the terrace.
Seventeen to his chair.
His coffee remained four inches from the plate.
Everything looked normal to anyone watching.
That evening, Hale’s medical bag disappeared.
Not the entire bag.
Only the small bottle he used on Thursdays.
Grant discovered it because he had ordered one of his security men to photograph every item in the bag while Hale took a call two weeks earlier.
The bottle had been in the left internal compartment.
Now it was gone.
Someone had realized they had made a mistake.
Hannah came to Grant’s office after Lucy fell asleep.
“I found something.”
She placed a folded piece of paper on his desk.
“What?”
“Prescription receipts.”
“Where?”
“Trash bin beside the downstairs study.”
Grant frowned.
“Read them.”
Hannah hesitated.
“Three medications. None are prescribed under your name.”
“Whose?”
“Gregory Mercer.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
Gregory.
The fake name Dr. Park had chosen had been Gregory Miller.
Coincidence.
Or something else.
Hannah continued.
“One drug is a long-acting dilating agent. Another is a compounded ophthalmic anesthetic that can damage the corneal surface with repeated exposure. The third…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“It’s normally used in tiny amounts before certain eye procedures.”
“And?”
“In the concentration listed here, I don’t know why someone would give it weekly for five years.”
Grant leaned back.
“Could they keep a man from seeing?”
“They could make already compromised vision significantly worse.”
His voice went flat.
“So someone didn’t necessarily cause my blindness.”
“No.”
“They made sure I stayed in it.”
Hannah said nothing.
The office door opened.
Grant’s hand moved instantly toward the pistol beneath his desk.
Daniel Cross stood in the doorway.
Grant recognized his cologne.
His expensive shoes.
The tiny click of the gold ring he always turned when annoyed.
“Am I interrupting?”
Hannah folded the receipts into her palm.
Grant smiled.
“No.”
Daniel stepped inside.
“Then maybe Hannah can leave.”
Grant remained still.
“She stays.”
Daniel’s ring stopped clicking.
That told Grant more than Daniel’s face ever could.
“Something wrong?” Grant asked.
“No.”
Daniel walked farther into the office.
“I just thought you might want privacy.”
Grant’s smile disappeared.
“Privacy from whom?”
Daniel did not answer immediately.
May you like
And for the first time in fourteen years, Grant Mercer heard danger in the silence of his closest friend.
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