Chapter 7 - The Weight in the Pocket
Martha spent the next three hours in a state of hyper-focused anxiety. She scrubbed countertops in the main kitchen, folded cloth napkins for the dining staff, and wiped down the banisters in the grand foyer, all while the tiny glass vial weighed heavily against her hip in her apron pocket.
Her mind was a chaotic puzzle.
Why was Maxwell Rourke pretending to be paralyzed? Or was he pretending?
Her mind went back to the vial. Maxwell's reaction when she showed it to him wasn't the look of a man hiding his own secret stash. It was the look of a man who had just realized something terrifying was happening right under his nose.
If Maxwell didn't put that unlabeled medication behind the rubbing alcohol... who did?
Dr. Cole? Evelyn?
Martha waited until 10:00 PM, when the main household staff was dismissed to their quarters in the west wing. Instead of going to her small bedroom, she slipped quietly into the secondary medical pantry on the ground floor—a small, windowless room where discarded supplies, extra bandages, and empty drug containers were stored before disposal.
She locked the door behind her, pulled the vial from her apron, and held it up beneath the dim fluorescent light.
Using a small magnifying glass from a desk drawer, she examined the rubber stopper and the glass neck. There was no text, but near the bottom rim, faint traces of a dried, yellowish residue clung to the glass.
Martha smelled the top of the stopper cautiously. A faint, bitter, almond-like scent drifted up.
Her blood ran cold.
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As a former neuro-rehab nurse, she recognized that distinct chemical profile. It wasn't a nerve stimulant or a painkiller. It was a synthetic paralytic compound—a rare nerve-blocking agent that, when administered in small, daily micro-doses, mimicked the exact symptoms of permanent spinal cord paralysis by suppressing neuromuscular motor signals.
Someone was deliberately keeping Maxwell Rourke paralyzed.
