Chapter 10 - Confronting Dr. Thorne
Dr. Thorne stared down at the clear glass cylinder, and for a terrifying, agonizing second, absolute silence descended upon the office. I watched as his professional mask—the arrogant, untouchable certainty of a medical god—cracked down the center. His pupils dilated rapidly, his breathing caught in his throat, and his right hand instinctively twitched toward the edge of the desk before he caught himself.
“I... I don't know what this is, Marcus,” Thorne said, his voice thinning out, losing its deep, authoritative resonance. “If this is some kind of medical supply from your home care nursing staff, you should really discuss it with—”
“It’s a customized digitalis derivative mixed with succinylcholine, Dr. Thorne,” Elena spoke up, stepping out from behind my shoulder into the light of the office. She looked at the doctor with the cold, diagnostic scrutiny of a peer. “Formulated to bypass standard enzymatic degradation in the liver so it won't show up on a routine preliminary toxicology screen. Vanessa already confessed at the central police precinct forty minutes ago. She gave up your name, your cash payment schedule, and the exact offshore routing numbers Julian used to transfer your retaining fees.”
Thorne’s legs seemed to lose their structural integrity. He sank slowly back into his leather executive chair, his face turning the color of wet ash. He looked from Elena to me, his hands beginning to tremble so violently that his coffee cup rattled against its saucer.
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“Marcus, listen to me,” Thorne whispered, his voice cracking with sudden, desperate terror. “You don't understand the pressure I was under! Julian came to me months ago! He knew about the experimental clinic failures I had in Zurich—he knew I was facing bankruptcy and a medical board investigation! He threatened to ruin my reputation if I didn't help him! He told me Noah was already suffering from an incurable genetic defect—he said we were just speeding up the inevitable to save the family from financial ruin!”
“You swore an oath to save lives!” I roared, slamming both of my hands onto the mahogany desktop with enough force to crack the glass paperweight sitting near his monitor. I leaned over the desk until my face was inches from his perspiring forehead. “You stood in my home! You looked my nine-year-old son in the eye while he was crying from muscle spasms, and you told him he was being a brave little soldier while you were actively signing his death warrant for thirty thousand dollars a month!”
