He also ordered that the syringe, medication case, folder, and every vial in the mansion be sealed separately.
Crane shouted as Gabriel led him away.
“She is going to put you into withdrawal.
She will destroy what remains of your nervous system.
When this goes wrong, remember that I warned you.”
Sebastian watched the door close.
Then he looked at me.
“My son’s medical bills,” I said before he could speak.
“That is why I came.
Ten thousand dollars.
One session.
Those were the terms.”
“You’re discussing money now?”
“Especially now.
I won’t have you believing I manufactured this for a reward.
Pay what was promised.
Nothing more until independent doctors confirm what I found.”
A strange expression crossed his face.
It was almost amusement.
“Gabriel told me you were difficult.”
“Gabriel kidnapped me.
His opinion is compromised.”
Sebastian gave the smallest real smile I had seen from him.
Then the smile disappeared.
“My foot moved.”
“Yes.”
“Do it again.”
I tested the tendon twice more.
The first attempt produced nothing.
On the second, his toes flexed.
Sebastian inhaled sharply.
He had faced bombs, assassins, police raids, and rival crews.
Yet that tiny movement frightened him more than any of them.
Hope was the one threat he had never learned to control.
Before dawn, Gabriel contacted two neurologists from hospitals outside Illinois.
Neither had worked for Crane, received Lombardi money, or consulted on Sebastian’s case.
A toxicology laboratory collected the syringe and blood samples under chain-of-custody procedures arranged by Sebastian’s attorney.
I stayed because removing or adjusting the pump without supervision would have been reckless.
I monitored Sebastian’s temperature, muscle tone, pulse, and emerging spasms while we waited.
He did not sleep.
Neither did I.
Near sunrise, he asked about Oliver.
I told him the truth.
My son’s lungs narrowed during respiratory infections.
Every cold became a crisis.
My divorce had swallowed our savings, and the clinic barely covered rent.
I had spent years helping other people stand upright while my own life collapsed around me.
Sebastian stared into the dying fire.
“My father died instantly,” he said.
“People called that mercy.
I used to hate them for it.”
“Why?”
“Because they said surviving was the gift.
They didn’t have to wake inside my body.”
I did not offer comfort.
He would have rejected it.
