Chapter 1 - The Question Nobody Wanted Asked
By the end of my sixth day in Daniel Rhodes's house, I had learned three things.
First, the mansion had more cameras than windows.
Second, every person who worked there was terrified of disappointing Daniel.
Third, they were even more terrified when I asked questions about his doctors.
It started with a list.
Not an accusation. Not a theory. Just a list of names copied from prescription labels and appointment cards.
Dr. Howard Vale, internal medicine.
Dr. Miriam Cole, cardiology.
Dr. Peter Lancaster, neurology.
Dr. James Elson, pain management.
There were others, too, but those four appeared most often. The strange part was that Daniel's medication schedule looked as if each doctor had written instructions in isolation. One bottle said morning. Another said evening. A printed sheet from the private nursing service shifted two medications to noon. A handwritten note in black ink changed one of them again.
I was not trained to decide which instruction was right.
But I knew enough to recognize confusion.
And confusion was dangerous when the patient was too weak to challenge the people around him.
At breakfast, Daniel sat at the long table near the east windows, looking pale and irritated while his housekeeper, Mrs. Alvarez, placed untouched toast beside him.
I set my notebook down across from him.
He glanced at it.
"You carry that thing like a prosecutor."
"You say that like you've never hired one."
The corner of his mouth moved.
Not quite a smile.
Daniel had smiled twice all week, both times as if the expression had surprised him.
"What do you want, Maya?"
"A meeting."
"With whom?"
"All four primary doctors. Same room. Same time."
The almost-smile vanished.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I don't summon specialists like schoolchildren just because my temporary bride candidate is curious."
"I'm not curious. I'm confused."
"That's not better."
I pushed the notebook toward him.
"This schedule changed three times in eleven days. There are two different versions in your room and one in the kitchen. Your night nurse follows the kitchen copy. Your morning nurse follows the one by your bed. Yesterday your driver told me Dr. Vale changed something after an appointment, but nobody can show me the updated order."
Daniel's eyes hardened.
"And you think someone is trying to kill me?"
I hesitated.
"I think everyone has become so convinced you're dying that they stopped asking whether anything is making you worse."
Silence filled the room.
Mrs. Alvarez stopped pouring coffee.
Two security guards near the door stared at the wall as if they had suddenly become interested in molding.
Daniel tapped one finger against the table.
"Get out," he said.
Mrs. Alvarez looked startled.
Daniel didn't look away from me.
"Everyone except Maya."
Within seconds, the room emptied.
The doors closed.
Then Daniel leaned back and studied me.
"Do you understand what kind of people work for me?"
"The kind who leave quickly when you tell them to."
"The kind who investigate threats before I hear about them. The kind who know more about my schedule than I do. The kind who have kept me alive through things that should have killed me before any disease had the chance."
I folded my hands.
"Then one meeting shouldn't scare them."
His jaw tightened.
"You are dangerously comfortable in my house."
"You gave me seven days."
"Today is day six."
"Then I'm running out of time."
He watched me for a long moment.
Then he reached for his phone.
"Fine."
I blinked.
"Fine?"
"All four doctors. Tonight. Eight o'clock. If they tell you the same thing they've told me, you stop treating my nightstand like a crime scene."
"Agreed."
"And if one of them tries to leave early?"
"I ask why."
That time, he did smile.
It was brief and grim.
"Now you're learning."
The meeting took place in Daniel's library beneath a chandelier shaped like a ring of black iron. Rain beat against the tall windows. Fire burned in the marble fireplace, but the room still felt cold.
Dr. Vale arrived first.
He was in his sixties, silver-haired, elegant, and irritated by my presence.
Dr. Cole came next, younger and composed, with the tired eyes of someone who had spent too many years explaining bad news to rich families.
Dr. Lancaster brought a leather folder.
Dr. Elson arrived twelve minutes late and apologized to Daniel, not to anyone else.
Daniel sat at the head of the table.
I sat beside him with my notebook.
His attorney, Grant Pierce, stood near the fireplace.
So did Daniel's cousin, Vincent Rhodes.
I had met Vincent twice.
Both times, he had been charming in the smooth, careful way of someone who practiced being harmless.
He was forty-one, handsome, and supposedly Daniel's closest surviving relative.
He also happened to be the primary executor of Daniel's estate.
That detail had bothered me the moment I learned it.
Not because executors were suspicious.
Because Vincent was always nearby when Daniel discussed dying.
Never when Daniel discussed living.
Dr. Vale opened the conversation.
"Mr. Rhodes, I understand there are concerns regarding medication coordination."
"There are," Daniel said.
Dr. Vale glanced at me.
"From your companion?"
"From me."
The correction was small.
It changed the room.
I slid copies of the three schedules across the table.
"Which one is current?"
Dr. Vale picked them up.
Dr. Cole leaned over.
Dr. Lancaster frowned.
Dr. Elson went still.
No one answered immediately.
That was the first moment I knew this was not ordinary confusion.
"This one," Dr. Vale finally said, pointing to the bedside copy.
Dr. Cole shook her head.
"No. That predates my last adjustment."
Dr. Lancaster looked at Daniel.
"I was told cardiology discontinued the evening dose two weeks ago."
Dr. Cole's expression sharpened.
"I did no such thing."
Dr. Elson closed his folder.
"This is clearly a clerical issue."
"Then fix it," I said.
He looked at me as though a chair had spoken.
"Miss Brooks, medical management is more complicated than a handwritten chart."
"I'm sure it is. That's why four specialists should be able to agree on what their patient is taking."
Vincent gave a soft laugh.
"Maya, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but Daniel's condition is terminal. We all need to accept that."
I turned toward him.
"I'm not discussing whether his condition is terminal. I'm asking which instructions are correct today."
Grant Pierce lowered his eyes, hiding what might have been approval.
Then Dr. Cole said something that changed everything.
"Daniel, when was your last full blood panel?"
Dr. Vale looked at her sharply.
"Miriam."
"I'm asking my patient."
Daniel frowned.
"Last month."
Dr. Cole's face tightened.
"I ordered one six days ago."
"Nobody told me."
"I sent the order directly to the private nursing service."
Vincent shifted in his chair.
I noticed because nobody else moved.
"Was it done?" I asked.
Dr. Cole looked toward Daniel.
"I never received the results."
Dr. Vale adjusted his cuffs.
"There may have been a scheduling issue."
"A scheduling issue," Daniel repeated.
His voice was quiet.
That was worse than shouting.
Dr. Cole continued.
"Your symptoms have progressed faster than I expected. The fatigue, dizziness, nausea, muscle weakness. I assumed the underlying disease was accelerating, but some of those symptoms can overlap with medication effects or other complications. I wanted updated labs before making conclusions."
Dr. Vale's tone cooled.
"Let's not offer false hope. We have imaging. We have pathology. We have multiple consultations."
"I'm not offering hope," Dr. Cole said. "I'm asking for data."
Daniel looked at me.
For six days, I had seen him angry, dismissive, exhausted, amused, and in pain.
I had never seen fear.
Not until then.
Not fear of dying.
Fear that he might have trusted the wrong people while doing it.
"Get the tests," he said.
Dr. Vale sighed.
"Daniel, there is no reason to subject you to unnecessary procedures tonight."
I opened my mouth.
Daniel lifted one hand.
The entire room went silent.
"I wasn't asking."
Dr. Vale's expression changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Something behind the professional concern.
Something like anger.
Daniel saw it, too.
"Grant," he said, "arrange an independent physician. Not connected to any of them. Private hospital. Full review."
Vincent stood.
"Daniel, think carefully. Bringing outsiders into this could expose information about the family."
Daniel turned his head slowly.
"My life is family information."
Vincent's face went blank.
At ten that night, Dr. Cole left with the promise she would cooperate fully.
Dr. Lancaster seemed relieved.
Dr. Elson left without looking at me.
Dr. Vale stayed five minutes longer than necessary, reminding Daniel that stress could worsen his condition.
When the library finally emptied, I gathered my notes.
"Your trial ends tomorrow," Daniel said.
I looked up.
"I know."
"You could leave in the morning."
"I know."
"Whatever this is, it isn't your problem."
I slid the notebook into my backpack.
"That's the thing about being there for someone. You don't get to pretend the frightening part belongs to somebody else."
His expression shifted.
"You barely know me."
"I knew my father for twenty-seven years and couldn't save him. Knowing someone longer doesn't make losing them easier."
Daniel looked toward the rain-streaked window.
"Forty-two women applied."
"So I've heard."
"Most wanted the money. Some wanted the name. A few thought marrying me would turn them into royalty."
"And you rejected them."
"My security rejected them."
"Why didn't they reject me?"
He looked back at me.
"They tried."
I stared.
He almost smiled again.
"You walked through the service entrance because you thought the front gate was closed. Then you argued with a guard carrying two grocery bags because you assumed he was a delivery driver. By the time anyone realized who you were, you were already inside."
I felt heat rise to my face.
"That explains several things."
"Maya."
His tone changed.
I met his eyes.
"Stay another week."
It was not romantic.
It was not even gentle.
But beneath the command was something Daniel Rhodes almost never showed.
A request.
I nodded.
"One more week."
He held out his hand.
I thought he wanted a handshake.
Instead, he placed a small black keycard in my palm.
"This opens the private medical records room downstairs."
I closed my fingers around it.
"You have a medical records room?"
"I have a room for everything."
"That's disturbing."
"You'll get used to it."
I should have laughed.
Instead, I noticed Vincent standing in the hallway beyond the partly open library door.
He had been listening.
His face showed no emotion.
But his right hand was clenched around his phone so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
And for the first time since entering Daniel's house, I understood something important.
May you like
The question nobody wanted asked was no longer about whether Daniel Rhodes was dying.
It was about who needed him to.
