Chapter 7: The Concierge Doctor
The rain hammered against the windshield of Arthur’s battered sedan as we sat parked across the street from a sterile, discreet medical office building in an upscale downtown district. The sign outside read "Vance & Associates Wellness Clinic," though everyone in the city knew that Julian Vance’s philanthropic empire operated as an umbrella for much more than just charity work.
I clutched my canvas backpack tightly against my chest, the hard angles of the ledger and the digital hard drives pressing firmly through the fabric. My fingers traced the strap, remembering the terrifying moments behind the velvet drapes in Julian's study just a few days ago. Escaping the estate through the service gardens had been a blur of adrenaline, leaving behind one white maid's glove snagged on a rose bush—a silent calling card that Julian would surely find.
"You ready for this, Maya?" Arthur asked, his voice low and steady as he adjusted his glasses, his eyes reflecting the amber glow of a streetlamp. "Dr. Thomas isn't like the standard corporate suits. He’s a concierge physician. High-end clients pay him six figures a year just to look the other way when prescriptions disappear or medical histories need a convenient rewrite."
"I have to be," I replied, exhaling a slow, measured breath. "He’s the one who authorized the sedative used at the gala. If we can get him to authenticate the prescription logs and tie them back to Julian’s signature, we don't just have circumstantial suspicion. We have a medical conspiracy."
We watched as the frosted glass door of the clinic opened. A tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal overcoat stepped out into the rain, pulling an umbrella open with practiced precision. It was Dr. Thomas. He checked his gold wristwatch, looking around the quiet street before heading toward a reserved parking space behind the building.
"Go," Arthur murmured, cutting the engine.
I pushed the car door open, slipping out into the chill of the evening. The rain stung my face, but I kept my head down, my boots clicking rhythmically against the wet pavement as I intercepted the doctor before he could reach his luxury sedan.
"Dr. Thomas?" I called out, my voice cutting cleanly through the sound of the falling rain.
The doctor stopped, turning around with a look of mild annoyance that quickly vanished when he recognized my face. He had seen me at the charity galas, serving champagne in my black-and-white uniform. He knew who I was. His eyes widened slightly, darting past me toward Arthur’s idling car before fixing back on my damp, determined face.
"You're the girl from the Vance residence," Dr. Thomas said, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "What is the meaning of this? You shouldn't be here. This is private property."
"It's about the prescription logs from last month," I said, stepping closer so I could speak without shouting over the wind. "The sedative given to Claire Sterling. I have the ledger, Doctor. And I have the digital backups. Julian thinks he can hide behind his foundation, but you and I both know that prescription pad has your handwriting all over it."
The doctor's face went completely pale. The sophisticated, untouchable aura of an elite concierge physician evaporated in an instant, replaced by the naked panic of a man who realized he had hitched his wagon to a very dangerous predator. He looked around the empty alleyway as if Julian's private security team were watching from the shadows.
"Keep your voice down," Dr. Thomas hissed, grabbing my elbow and pulling me into the sheltered alcove by the clinic's back entrance. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, girl. Julian Vance doesn't just ruin careers; he makes people vanish without a trace."
"He's already trying to ruin mine," I said firmly, pulling my arm free from his grip. "He framed one of my coworkers last year, and he tried to silence Claire. But I'm not running anymore. If you want to go down alone for administering a controlled neurotoxin to a high-society woman, keep protecting him. But if you want immunity, you're going to write a sworn audio statement right now."
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Dr. Thomas stared at me, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. The moral weight of his complicity, combined with the sheer terror of Julian's retaliation, warred visibly behind his eyes. For a long moment, the only sound was the steady drumbeat of the rain against the metal awning above us.
"Bring your car around," the doctor whispered finally, his voice trembling as he reached into his overcoat for his phone. "We'll go to your lawyer's office. But we have to do it now, before Julian realizes I'm missing."
