Chapter 9 - The Doctor’s Deadly Secret
The icy wind blowing off the river slammed into us as we lay on the narrow steel catwalk beneath the bridge floor.
Above our heads,
the sound of gunfire and explosions continued to rattle the iron beams,
but down here in the shadows of the structure,
we were invisible to the attackers.
Gabriel was lying on his side,
panting heavily,
his hands gripping the steel grating beneath us.
I immediately scrambled onto my knees,
checking his head and neck for any signs of fresh injury from the fall.
"Are you okay?"
I asked,
my voice trembling violently as the cold wind whipped my hair across my face.
"Did you hit your spine?"
Gabriel looked up at me,
his eyes burning with an intense,
indescribable emotion.
He reached out,
his large hand cupping the side of my face,
his fingers warm against my freezing skin.
"You insane,
glorious woman,"
he whispered,
his voice filled with raw awe.
"You just dragged a two-hundred-pound man through a floor hatch while under heavy fire."
"I have student debt,
Gabriel,"
I choked out,
half-laughing,
half-crying from the sheer absurdity of the situation.
"If you die,"
"my paycheck bounces!"
He let out a deep,
booming laugh that vibrated against the metal beams around us.
He pulled me down into a fierce hug,
holding me tight against his chest while the storm of war raged above us.
Twenty minutes later,
Vincent and six armored backup units managed to clear the bridge,
securing the perimeter and lowering rope ladders to pull us back up to safety.
By six o'clock that evening,
we were back inside the safehouse in upstate New York.
The entire estate was on high alert,
fortified with thirty additional heavy guards.
In the medical room,
I was reviewing Gabriel’s original MRI scans on the digital lightbox,
trying to process something that had been bothering me since the bridge attack.
When Gabriel had dragged himself through the hatch,
I had seen a distinct reflex contraction in his left calf muscle—a contraction that shouldn't be possible for a patient with a complete spinal cord severance.
I pulled up the surgical reports signed by Dr. Harrison,
Carmine’s private physician who had performed Gabriel’s initial operation.
I zoomed in on the high-resolution imaging files of his lower back.
My eyes widened in absolute shock.
"This can't be right..."
I whispered to myself.
I grabbed my tablet,
running an advanced contrast analysis on the spinal column scans.
Gabriel rolled into the room in a fresh suit,
his eyes catching the frantic look on my face.
"What is it,
Maya?"
he asked,
stopping his chair beside the lightbox.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Gabriel..."
I said,
my hands trembling as I pointed at the screen.
"Your spine wasn't shattered by the sniper bullet six months ago."
Gabriel froze.
"What?"
"The bullet nicked the bone casing,"
I explained,
my voice rising with pure indignation.
"It caused severe swelling and temporary nerve shock."
"But Dr. Harrison didn't perform a spinal repair!"
"He installed a titanium nerve-blocking clip right at your L1 vertebra!"
"He artificially cut off the nerve signals to your legs!"
Gabriel stared at the glowing blue image on the screen,
his face turning completely white.
"He... he blocked the signals on purpose?"
"Carmine paid him to freeze your recovery,"
I said,
tears of rage prickling at the corners of my eyes.
"They made you believe you were permanently paralyzed so you would lose your grip on the empire!"
"You aren't broken,
Gabriel!"
"The nerve path is intact!"
May you like
"If we surgically remove that clip,"
"you can walk again!"
