Chapter 2 - The “Medical Condition” Wasn't the Real Reason Enzo Couldn't Walk—Someone Had Been Deliberately Keeping His Body WeakThe shooting changed the house.
The guards doubled.
Doors locked.
Staff searched.
Phones were collected.
And Enzo's calm exterior became even colder.
I expected him to dismiss me.
Instead, he handed me a key.
“Medical room.”
I stared.
“You trust me with it?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because the last nurse who had access was found unconscious.”
“That makes me feel much better.”
He almost smiled.
We entered a private medical room hidden behind a panel in his bedroom.
The equipment looked expensive.
Too expensive.
But the medication cabinet worried me.
Some labels had been removed.
I checked the bottles.
Three had expired.
Two contained dosage instructions that didn't match his diagnosis.
One was completely unmarked.
“Who manages your medication?”
“Victor.”
“Your chief of staff?”
“Yes.”
“You trust him?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Then why is he still here?”
“Because I need him.”
That sounded like a man trapped in his own life.
I examined Enzo's legs again.
“Do you feel this?”
I touched the side of his calf.
“Yes.”
“This?”
His foot moved slightly.
“Yes.”
“That isn't what your records suggest.”
He stared.
“Explain.”
“Your records say there is almost complete neurological loss.”
I looked at his foot.
“But your reflexes aren't consistent with that.”
He went quiet.
“You think I can recover.”
“I think someone wants you to believe you can't.”
That sentence changed him.
“Find out.”
“I'm a nurse.”
“That's why.”
He trusted me with the records.
The real ones.
Not the ones in the official file.
I compared them.
The MRI showed a spinal injury.
Severe, but not catastrophic.
The paralysis should have improved.
Instead, his medication regimen contained powerful muscle relaxants.
Every day.
For years.
I looked at him.
“Who prescribed these?”
He hesitated.
“Dr. Ricci.”
“Your family physician?”
“Yes.”
“Then he's been suppressing your recovery.”
Enzo didn't speak.
His fingers tightened against the wheelchair.
“Four years ago,” he said quietly, “I woke after surgery and could move my right foot.”
I stared.
“What happened?”
“Dr. Ricci said it was a reflex.”
“And you believed him?”
“I trusted him.”
That word sounded bitter.
“How long afterward did movement disappear?”
“Two days.”
I checked his records.
Two days after that event, a new medication was added.
The same class of drug I suspected.
“You weren't getting worse,” I whispered.
“You were being kept worse.”
He looked at me.
“Can you prove it?”
“Yes.”
I could feel his anger.
But beneath it was something else.
Fear.
He had spent years believing he was broken.
Now he had to consider something far worse.
Someone had been maintaining the lie.
That evening I searched the mansion's medical archive.
I found a series of prescriptions.
Every one signed by Dr. Ricci.
But the handwriting didn't match his.
Someone else had been signing the digital orders.
The authorization belonged to Victor.
I confronted him.
He smiled.
“I'm only following the doctor's instructions.”
“Which doctor?”
“Dr. Ricci.”
“Then why does he say he didn't authorize them?”
Victor's smile vanished.
“You spoke to him?”
“Yes.”
“He's lying.”
“No.”
I placed the records on the table.
“This medication could permanently damage Enzo.”
Victor looked at me.
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
I leaned closer.
“I know exactly what I'm talking about.”
He stepped away.
Then said:
“Be careful, Nurse Hart.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“It's advice.”
He left.
I turned toward Enzo.
He had been listening from the hallway.
“Now you understand why eleven nurses fled.”
I looked at him.
“They figured it out too?”
“Some.”
“What happened?”
“They were fired.”
“By whom?”
He looked at Victor.
I felt a chill.
“And the others?”
“They were scared.”
“Of Victor?”
“Of what happened to the first one.”
“Who?”
“Maria.”
I waited.
“Tell me.”
“Maria discovered the medication changes.”
“What happened?”
“She disappeared.”
My stomach tightened.
“Alive?”
“I don't know.”
I looked back at the records.
“Then we're not only dealing with someone trying to control your health.”
“What else?”
I held up one page.
“Someone is eliminating anyone who notices.”
Enzo stared at me.
Then asked:
“Do you still want the job?”
I should have said no.
Instead I answered:
“Yes.”
May you like
He smiled for the first time.
“Good.”
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