The older gentleman was Harrison Vance, Raymond’s personal attorney of more than twenty years.
“Where is Raymond?” Harrison asked, looking around the entrance hall.
I pointed upstairs.
“He is getting ready upstairs,” I answered.
Harrison stared at me.
Then came a thump from above.
Another followed.
Raymond appeared at the top of the staircase.
He wore dark trousers and a crisp white shirt and leaned heavily on a polished wooden cane.
He had spent two nights practicing the short walk from his bed to the bedroom door.
He had never attempted stairs.
“Mr. Winslow…” Harrison murmured in sheer astonishment.
Raymond smiled.
“Do not prepare my funeral just yet, Harrison,” Raymond remarked dryly.
He descended one agonizing step at a time while I followed close enough to catch him.
By the bottom, his shirt was drenched with sweat, but he remained standing.
Harrison hugged him without a word.
Raymond patted his back.
“Business comes first, Harrison,” Raymond insisted gently. “We can allow ourselves to get sentimental later on.”
For the next hour, everyone gathered in the library to examine photographs, medication schedules, phone logs, and medical records. Investigators had already begun formal legal requests.
They uncovered suspicious transfers from a shell corporation controlled by Christopher to an offshore account belonging to Dr. Wallace.
They also recovered messages in which both men discussed adjusting Raymond’s medication to prevent an unexpected recovery.
One thing was still missing: definitive proof of exactly what had been injected and who ordered it.
“The prosecutor’s office is currently analyzing the chemical reports,” one of the officers explained clearly. “We cannot arrest a citizen simply because we suspect his motives, so we need irrefutable evidence.”
“Then secure the evidence properly,” Raymond demanded. “I want full justice, not a dramatic show.”
At 12:20, tires crunched over the gravel.
Christopher was back.
He entered the lobby talking on his phone.
“I need you to get over here immediately because…”
He stopped mid-sentence.
First he saw Harrison.
Then the officers.
Then me holding Theodore.
Finally, his eyes reached Raymond.
His uncle sat upright in his favorite armchair, free of the bed and IV monitors, hands resting firmly on his cane.
Christopher turned white.
“Uncle…” he stammered out.
“Good morning, Christopher,” Raymond greeted him coldly.
“What on earth are you doing out of your bed?”
“That is hardly the most interesting question you should be asking right now,” Raymond replied smoothly.
He pointed toward an empty chair.
“Sit down.”
Christopher didn’t move.
“The doctor explicitly told us that you were completely incapable of movement!”
“The doctor has made a great many false statements recently,” Raymond retorted.
Christopher glanced toward the exit.
An officer subtly blocked his path.
Raymond continued.
“A week ago, you were convinced I would be dead before Sunday arrived. Three days ago, you ordered an unauthorized genetic test without obtaining Nora’s consent. And yesterday afternoon, you received a lab result that sent you running directly to Dr. Wallace.”
Christopher finally looked at me.
His arrogance was gone.
“That woman is manipulating your mind!” Christopher shouted, pointing an angry finger at me.
“Is she really?” Raymond asked calmly.
“She arrived here with a random child, settled into your house, and suddenly claims the boy has a direct connection to you! Can you not see what she is doing?”
“What I see clearly,” Raymond corrected him sharply, “is that this tiny child caused me to move my fingers after I spent weeks listening to everyone debate my funeral arrangements while I lay helpless.”
His voice lowered.
“Including you, Christopher.”
Christopher went silent.
Harrison opened his folder.
“The secondary DNA panel, conducted by an accredited independent facility, confirms a compatible biological relation between Mr. Winslow and the child,” Harrison declared. “We are currently filing legal motions to establish the exact lineage through the child’s father.”
Christopher stepped backward.
“That proves absolutely nothing in a court of law!”
“It provides more than enough probable cause to ask serious questions,” Harrison countered smoothly.
Raymond struck his cane against the floor.
“When you received those genetic results, you had two clear choices available to you,” Raymond said quietly. “You could have walked up to my bedside and told me that we might have found my lost family, or you could have conspired with Wallace to end my life.”
