Chapter 4 - The Proof in the Garden
Alistair’s jaw tightened until the bone showed white through his skin. “Dr. Evans explicitly stated that weight-bearing activity would fracture Finley’s growth plates and cause permanent paralysis. Do you think you know better than a medical expert, Miss O'Connell?”
“Dr. Evans hasn't run a neurological scan on Finley in four years!” Sarah challenged, her voice ringing with passionate fury. “He comes here once a month, writes a prescription for heavy sedatives, collects his fifty-thousand-dollar retainer, and leaves! Have you ever actually looked at your son’s legs, Mr. McGregor? Have you touched them?”
“How dare you—!” Brenda started, but Alistair raised a single hand, silencing her instantly.
“Speak,” Alistair commanded Sarah, his dark eyes locked onto hers.
“When muscles degenerate, they atrophy with muscle-spasticity or total nerve deadness,” Sarah explained rapidly, using the knowledge she had spent nights researching after her brother’s fight. “Finley’s legs have full sensory nerve response. He feels pain, he feels cold, he feels touch. His knee-jerk reflexes are normal! He isn't paralyzed, Mr. McGregor. He’s weak! He’s weak because he’s been strapped to a leather chair since he was eighteen months old!”
“This is insane ramblings!” Brenda laughed nervously. “Alistair, fire her immediately! Call the police!”
“Silence, Brenda!” Alistair snapped, his patience snapping. He looked at Sarah. “If what you’re saying is true... why would Dr. Evans lie?”
“Because as long as Finley is an invalid, the McGregor Medical Trust pays out two million dollars a year to Evans’s private clinic and Brenda’s caretaking agency!” Sarah fired back, pulling a folded piece of paper from her apron pocket and slapping it against Alistair’s chest. “Look at the billing statements! I found them in the study trash! Half the equipment billed to your trust was never delivered!”
Alistair looked down at the financial summary sheet in his hand. His eyes scanned the numbers, his expression darkening with every passing second.
Brenda’s face drained of all color. She took a subtle step back toward the door.
“Alistair... she’s making up stories to save her job—”
“Where did you take him today?” Alistair interrupted, ignoring Brenda completely, his eyes fixed on Sarah.
“To the willow tree in the west garden,” Sarah said softly, her tone softening as she thought of the boy. “We’ve been working secretly for four weeks. Ten minutes a day. Massages, hydrotherapy in the heated tub, and resistance exercises.”
“And what happened today?” Alistair’s voice trembled slightly—a microscopic crack in his armor.
Sarah looked at him, her eyes shining with tears. “Today, Mr. McGregor... your son took six steps on his own. He caught himself. He didn't fall.”
Alistair went completely still. The silence in the room was so thick you could hear the ticking of the nursery clock.
“Six steps...” Alistair whispered, as if the words belonged to a foreign language he couldn't comprehend.
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“He wanted to surprise you,” Sarah added, her voice cracking. “He works hard every single day because he thinks... he thinks if he learns to walk, you’ll finally love him enough to stay home.”
The statement hit Alistair like a physical blow. He stumbled back a half-step, staring at Sarah as if she had driven a blade through his ribs.
