Chapter 7: The Interrogation of Dr. Vance
Dr. Vance stepped into the study, his eyes scanning the room with professional detachment. He noted Arthur standing near the fireplace, Julian by the door, and Clara sitting upright on the settee. He offered a sympathetic, practiced smile.
"Arthur, I was terribly sorry to hear about the medical emergency," Dr. Vance said, walking toward the center of the room and placing his medical bag on the edge of the mahogany desk. "Martha said Clara experienced severe distress. Let me examine her immediately."
"Don't touch her," Arthur’s voice cut through the room like a razor blade. He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer weight of authority in his tone caused Dr. Vance’s hand to hover inches from his bag.
Dr. Vance blinked, feigning offense. "Arthur, I am the family physician. My duty is to my patient."
"Your duty has been to Evelyn's bank account for the past three years," Julian interjected, stepping forward to block any retreat toward the door. "We know about the altered lab results, Vance. We know about the synthetic compounds you prescribed to induce a miscarriage under the guise of prenatal vitamins."
Dr. Vance’s professional mask twitched. A micro-expression of panic crossed his features before he smoothed his features back into cold arrogance. "You have no proof. Those are slanderous accusations that will ruin my medical license."
"Try ruining a federal conspiracy charge," Arthur said, stepping forward. He didn't point the revolver at the doctor, but the sheer presence of the weapon resting against his thigh was unmistakable. "The digital logs from your clinic's off-site server were mirrored to my personal vault forty-eight hours ago. I know every prescription you wrote, every payoff wire transfer routed through the Cayman Islands."
Dr. Vance swallowed hard, his throat dry. He looked toward the door, realizing too late that Evelyn had not followed him inside. She had abandoned him the moment she sensed the trap snap shut.
"Evelyn told me the family needed restructuring," Dr. Vance stammered, his professional facade completely crumbling under the pressure. "She said the child would fracture the corporate inheritance. She promised me a seat on the board of the European biomedical division."
Clara stared at the doctor, her heart breaking all over again. People she had known her entire life—Martha, Dr. Vance—had traded her unborn child’s life for corporate board seats and offshore wire transfers.
"You wrote the prescription," Clara said, her voice shaking with restrained fury. "You looked me in the eye at my last check-up and told me the cramping was normal."
"I was told it was painless," Vance whispered defensively, looking down at his polished shoes. "I was told the compound would simply reset the pregnancy naturally, without risk to your health."
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"Without risk?" Arthur shouted, stepping directly into the doctor’s personal space. "She could have died on that marble floor! That is my daughter and my grandchild!"
The heavy oak door swung open wide, and Evelyn stood on the threshold. She was no longer wearing the mask of the grieving, misunderstood wife. Her face was hard, her eyes narrowed with pure venom.
