Chapter 5: The Harbor Clinic
Under the pretense of attending his daily occupational therapy session in town, Julian had the estate driver drop him off at the municipal medical center. The moment the driver pulled away from the curb, Julian slipped down the side alley, hailed an unmarked taxi, and headed straight for the waterfront.
The harbor clinic was a weathered brick building wedged between fish markets and rusted boatyards. The air smelled of brine and diesel exhaust.
Julian walked inside, keeping his cane folded in his jacket. He found the administrative office on the second floor and knocked.
"Dr. Elena Ramos?" Julian asked, stepping inside.
A woman in her late thirties with tired eyes and graying hair looked up from a microscope. When she recognized Julian’s face, she dropped her pen. "Julian Vance? You shouldn't be here. If Vincent knows you left the compound—"
"I can see, Elena," Julian interrupted, removing his sunglasses.
Elena gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Your eyes... the corneal graft took?"
"It did. Three weeks ago," Julian said, stepping closer. "My father left me a letter before he died. He said you knew what happened the night of the fire."
Elena’s face drained of color. She locked the office door and drew the blinds. "Your father came to me a week before the explosion. He found out Vincent had taken out an eight-figure life insurance rider on both of you. When your father threatened to disinherit him, the laboratory caught fire that very weekend."
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She opened a metal filing cabinet and pulled out a flash drive. "This contains the original toxicology reports from your father’s autopsy. The coroner was paid off by Vincent's associates to bury it, but I kept the duplicate blood panel. Your father didn't die of smoke inhalation, Julian. He was drugged with a paralytic before the fire even started."
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