Chapter 49

"What do you think we're looking at, here?" Dr. Madison asks me as we wait for the toxicology report to come in. "Did he accidentally ingest something? Was it a medicine mixup – maybe an accidental overdose? Could it possibly be a suicide attempt?"

My face must look uncertain, because she rushes to assure me.

"I'm not going to talk to the press, I promise," she says. "I'm not even offended to think you were worried about that, because I understand how delicate your position is. I just want to know what you think is going on, because I don't see how this has happened.

"It's rare for a mentally competent man of his age to accidentally poison himself," she goes on. "That's something I'd expect to see either in a young child, in someone with a learning disability, or in an elderly and confused patient.

"For a mentally sound man in his late 60s to come into my ER with a poisoning this severe, I have to think of a couple of different likely scenarios. One is a poisoning attempt. Another is a medication mistake, possibly one that will lead us to re-evaluate his mental state."

She looks at me squarely, her voice matter of fact when she next speaks.

"And the other is attempted foul play. Given the political status of this patient, it's even more important that I consider that last possibility."

There's a pause, and then she continues.

"I'm not accusing you, to be clear, Dr. Prism. But I can see on your face that you're holding back, and I need to know why. If you know something, you need to tell me, so that I can help you help our patient."

I hesitate, looking into her eyes. Alma Madison is a short Black woman who looks like she's maybe in her early 40s, with a short natural haircut and large brown eyes. Her expression is sympathetic and worried, but professional.

She looks kind. I decide to trust her.

"I'm certain that he's been poisoned," I say again. "And I'm certain of that because I've caught people tampering with his food before."

Dr. Madison's eyes widen in shock. She gestures toward the chairs next to the Alpha's bed and double-checks that the door is firmly shut. We sit, and she leans forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her thighs.

"Dr. Prism, this is incredibly serious. I need you to tell me everything you know," she says in a low voice, angling herself so that she can keep an eye on the door in case we're interrupted.

I sigh, shocked to hear my breath shudder slightly as I take a deep breath in again. I'm normally so calm under pressure – it's one of the aspects of myself that made me such a good surgeon. I've never felt this flustered before.

I can't even remember the last time I cried. I think it was on the way to prison, almost four years ago now. I hardened myself even further behind bars, because tears were a weakness there, and I couldn't afford to be weak.

I'd already learned, through growing up with my family and going through medical school and through my work as a doctor, to swallow my feelings and keep an excellent poker face. Prison only enhanced that part of me.

So, to be near tears now, to be so close to losing my composure, comes as a major shock to me. To my horror, I feel my eyes welling with tears, and I hastily move to wipe them away, sniffling again.

Dr. Madison reaches into her scrubs pocket and pulls out a crumpled packet of tissues, offering me one. I take it and blow my nose, scrub at my eyes, and scrunch it into my palm.

"Thank you," I say, taking another deep breath and steadying myself. "I apologize. I have no idea what came over me, there. I'm usually so put together."

"It sounds like you've had a shock," Dr. Madison points out gently. "Dr. Prism, even we doctors get rattled sometimes, especially when a case is personal. Go easy on yourself. Take a moment, and then tell me what you know. Just the facts, and we can go from there together, okay?"

"Okay," I say, taking a third deep breath and letting it out slowly. I feel calmer, and I fiddle with the edges of tissue in my hands as I speak.

"I was having a hell of a time getting his blood pressure stabilized, from the very start," I begin. "The numbers just didn't make any sense, none at all. There were other health issues, too. Nothing added up. You know – do you ever have a feeling, that gut feeling, that something just isn't right?"

Dr. Madison nods.

"Had it more than a few times," she says. "When you don't know exactly what's going on, you can't prove anything just yet and it could be something innocent, but somehow you just know it's not."

"Exactly that," I say.

"You gotta trust your gut," she says. "Mine is almost never wrong, and it's usually abuse I suspect. Sometimes a child, sometimes a wife, sometimes an elderly person. But I'm almost never wrong about it."

"That's exactly how I felt," I say. "I just knew something wasn't right. So, I did some digging, and I learned that almost every time Emmett got really sick, one of his son-in-law's aides had delivered his food either the night before or that morning."

Dr. Madison nods slowly, her eyes intently fixed on my face.

"I've – heard rumors about this son-in-law, none of them good," I say. I obviously can't tell her the real story behind why I know Charles is a snake, but I can at least try to give the impression.

"And I've overheard some nasty things he's been saying – I think he's after the Alpha's position, and I'm starting to think there isn't much he wouldn't do to get it.

"So, I told Emmett about my suspicions. Of course, I had to follow his lead on how he wanted to move forward, and he was adamant that we couldn't move against Charles until we had proof. If there is a conspiracy against him, moving too soon could be a fatal mistake.

"We set up a system instead where it is – or should have been – absolutely impossible for anyone to tamper with his food, drink, or medication.

"His medication stays with me at all times and is only administered by myself, personally. His food is delivered only by an extremely trusted server, and he doesn't drink anything from an unopened bottle.

"So, I have no idea how this happened. But I think Charles got impatient, and somehow he saw a chance to strike, so he grabbed it. I think he probably knew he wouldn't get another chance, so he couldn't rely on merely making the Alpha's health unstable – he had to go in for the kill.

"And I'm terrified he may have succeeded," I conclude, glancing toward the bed where Emmett is resting, gray-faced and breathing shallowly. "My god, if he dies, this is going to be all my fault."

"First of all, it would not be your fault," Dr. Madison says firmly, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "You couldn't go over the Alpha's head, and you did everything you could within your power.

"If he has been poisoned, that responsibility lies only on the person who committed this disgusting crime. Not you."

"Thank you," I whisper, squeezing her hand back. Suddenly, I yearn for Marcus. I hope he gets here soon. I need to lean on someone right now, someone who appreciates the dangers at play, and he's the only one I trust.

A knock on the door interrupts us. It's a nurse, holding a computer print-out and looking serious.

"Doctors?" she says. "The toxicology report is in."