Chapter 3 - The Medication That Shouldn't Exist
Adeline held her breath until her ribs hurt.
Victor stood ten feet away with his back to her.
He poured half the legitimate baclofen tablets into a folded tissue.
Then he removed a second bottle from inside his jacket.
Same white plastic.
Different cap.
He tipped unfamiliar tablets into Nico’s prescription bottle.
Nico’s gun stayed level.
Adeline could see the tremor in his wrist.
Not fear.
Fatigue.
Victor photographed the label.
Then he returned the bottle to the cabinet.
He turned.
Nico lowered the pistol before Victor could see it.
Victor stopped.
“Nico.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Victor’s eyes moved to Adeline.
“You too?”
“I was checking his pain level.”
Victor removed one glove.
Then the other.
He folded them into his pocket.
“You should sleep, Adeline.”
“So should you.”
Victor smiled.
“You’re very comfortable here for someone so new.”
Nico’s voice hardened.
“Why are you in my room?”
Victor looked at him.
“Your medication was left unsecured.”
“At two thirteen in the morning?”
“A house like this doesn’t run on banker’s hours.”
Nico rolled closer to the cabinet.
“Show me your pockets.”
Victor stared.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
For the first time, Victor’s face lost polish.
Only for a second.
Then it returned.
“You’re exhausted.”
“Show me.”
Victor stepped back.
“I am not submitting to a search by my nephew because a nurse has filled his head with paranoia.”
Adeline said, “Then explain the gloves.”
His eyes snapped toward her.
“Infection control.”
“In a private bedroom?”
“You’re tired too.”
Nico moved between them.
“Get out.”
Victor buttoned his jacket.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Add it to the list.”
Victor left.
Adeline shut the door.
Locked it.
Then leaned against it.
Nico’s hands shook now.
He put the gun down.
“Get the bottle.”
She did.
The substituted tablets matched the two that had disappeared from her specimen bag.
Same flat face.
Same shallow scoring line.
She photographed them.
Then used a clean envelope and removed one.
“I have a friend from nursing school at an independent toxicology lab.”
“No hospital chain?”
“No.”
“Can you trust her?”
“With my brother.”
Nico’s eyes went to the envelope.
“Then send it.”
Adeline drove out at six in the morning under the excuse of replacing medical supplies.
Her friend, Dr. Leena Patel, met her in the back entrance of a small diagnostics lab near Evanston.
Leena took one look at Adeline’s face.
“How illegal is this?”
“Not illegal.”
“That answer made it worse.”
“I need identification first.”
Leena sealed the tablet.
“What’s on the bottle?”
“Baclofen.”
“And you think it isn’t.”
“I know it isn’t.”
Leena studied her.
“Whose medication?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Rich person?”
Adeline said nothing.
Leena sighed.
“Very rich person.”
Adeline’s phone vibrated.
A text from Nico.
V IS ASKING WHERE YOU WENT.
She typed:
SUPPLIES.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Leena said, “Go. I’ll call.”
Adeline returned through the service gate.
Victor was waiting beside the garage.
Hands in his coat pockets.
“Supply run?”
“Yes.”
“At seven in the morning?”
“Pharmacies open.”
“Some do.”
She walked past him.
Victor said, “Your brother’s cardiology appointment is Tuesday, isn’t it?”
Adeline stopped.
Slowly.
“What?”
“Wes. Seven years old. Congenital defect.”
Every muscle in her back tightened.
Victor smiled.
“The family office handles dependent coverage. I approve expensive procedures.”
Adeline turned.
“You researched him.”
“I approve expenses.”
“He hasn’t had the surgery yet.”
“No.”
Victor tilted his head.
“Would be terrible if administrative questions delayed it.”
Adeline stared at him.
He stepped closer.
“I’m only reminding you that employment in this house comes with benefits.”
“And conditions?”
“All employment does.”
A window opened upstairs.
Nico was watching them.
Victor noticed.
He smiled at Adeline and walked away.
Her phone rang before she reached the kitchen.
Leena.
Adeline answered quietly.
“Well?”
Leena’s voice was different.
“This is not baclofen.”
“What is it?”
“A sedative muscle relaxant combined with another agent. I need more testing.”
“What would it do?”
“To a patient with a spinal cord injury?”
“Yes.”
“Reduce motor activity. Flatten reflex response. Increase fatigue. Make therapy performance look worse.”
Adeline sat down hard on the pantry stool.
Leena continued.
“If he’s been taking this regularly, somebody could make him look more neurologically impaired than he actually is.”
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long before it matters?”
“Depends on the dose.”
Adeline looked toward the ceiling.
Nico was somewhere above her.
For eight months, people had been telling him what his body could no longer do.
Leena said, “Adeline. How long has he been taking these?”
Adeline swallowed.
“Maybe months.”
Silence.
Then Leena said:
“Then whoever prescribed them wasn’t treating him.”
A door opened behind Adeline.
She turned.
May you like
Victor stood in the pantry entrance.
“How interesting,” he said.
