Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
Claire couldn't sleep. The image of the amber bottle haunted her. The next morning, before her shift at the Whitman mansion, she visited her childhood friend, Liam, who worked as a lab technician at a local clinic in Quincy.
"Can you find out what this is?" Claire asked, pushing her phone across the diner table, showing him the photo of the N-12 label.
Liam frowned, zooming in on the image. "There's no FDA approval code on this, Claire. Where did you get this? Is this from that millionaire's house?"
"Yes. It's being given to the little boy, Noah. He's paralyzed and mute, but Liam... I think his stepmother is drugging him to keep him that way. He communicated with me. He wrote 'pills'."
Liam’s face grew serious. "Grant Whitman’s company, Whitman Medical, specializes in neurological suppressants and experimental sedatives. A few years ago, they were developing a drug compound to treat extreme chemical anxiety, but the project was shut down because the side effects caused severe lethargy and temporary vocal paralysis in trials. It was nicknamed the 'N' series."
Claire gasped, the pieces of the puzzle falling into a horrifying picture. Vanessa wasn't just giving him standard sedatives; she was using Grant's own failed, unapproved experimental drugs to keep his son disabled. If Noah recovered, he would talk. He would tell his father how the accident really happened, or how Vanessa treated him when they were alone. And more importantly, if Noah remained incapacitated, Vanessa would eventually inherit the entire Whitman fortune if something happened to Grant.
"I need a sample of that liquid, Liam," Claire said, her voice turning fiercely determined.
"Claire, that's incredibly dangerous. If you get caught stealing medical property from a billionaire's house, they'll lock you up and throw away the key. Vanessa Whitman will destroy your life."
"She's destroying his life right now," Claire said flatly. "I can't look at that boy every day knowing I did nothing."
When Claire returned to the mansion that afternoon, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Vanessa was hosting a high-society tea party in the garden, and the house was buzzing with caterers. Claire used the chaos to slip up to the west wing.
She entered Noah's room. He was staring out the window, watching the children of the wealthy guests playing on the lawn below. His expression was one of profound, heartbreaking loneliness.
"Noah," Claire whispered.
May you like
He turned his head. Claire walked over and knelt beside him, taking his small hand in hers. "I know about the pills. I know she's making you sick. I'm going to get you out of here, but I need you to be strong. Can you do that for me?"
For the first time since she had known him, a single tear rolled down Noah's cheek. He didn't speak, but he squeezed her hand back with every ounce of strength his small, drugged body could muster.
