TEN DAYS TO SAVE THE MERCER TWINS

“Bring her inside.”

Prescott stared at me.

“Lawson, we don’t know who she is. Crosby Vane has been looking for an opening, and putting an unidentified woman inside this estate—”

“I said bring her inside.”

My voice wasn’t loud, but Prescott knew better than to argue.

He reached for his phone.

“And Prescott?”

He stopped.

“If she knows something about my children, I want to hear every word she has to say. If she’s playing games with me, she’ll regret wasting my time.”

Five minutes later, the security cameras showed a woman walking through the main gates.

She was young, perhaps thirty, wearing a faded brown coat, worn jeans, and shoes that looked as though they’d walked through half of Chicago. Her dark hair was tied loosely behind her head. She carried no handbag, no suitcase, nothing.

She looked nothing like the expensive specialists who had spent months entering my mansion with leather briefcases and leaving with millions of dollars.

But when she stepped into my office, she didn’t look intimidated.

She looked straight at me.

“Mr. Mercer?”

“Who are you?”

“Emily Carter.”

“How do you know my children are dying?”

She glanced at Prescott, then at the two guards standing near the door.

“I need to speak to you privately.”

I laughed without humor.

“You walk into the home of a man you don’t know, announce that you know his children are dying, and now you want privacy?”

“I understand how it sounds.”

“You understand nothing about me.”

“Perhaps not. But I understand what is happening to Jonah and Blythe.”

My hand тιԍнтened around the glᴀss on my desk.

“Explain.”

She took a breath.

“Your children aren’t responding to treatment because something is interfering with their ability to recover. I’ve seen this pattern before. The unexplained fevers, the sudden deterioration, the infections that keep returning despite aggressive treatment.”

Prescott moved closer.

“Are you a doctor?”

“No.”

“Then what exactly are you?”

Emily looked at him.

“Someone who knows what it looks like when a child is being treated for one problem while another problem is being overlooked.”

I stood.

“Get out.”

She didn’t move.

“Mr. Mercer, please. I know you’re desperate. I know you’ve already spent millions. But before you let your children die, I need you to answer three questions.”

I stared at her.

“Careful.”

“Have Jonah and Blythe ever received a blood transfusion from the same donor?”

My expression changed.

“What?”

“Have they?”

“I don’t know. Their doctors handle that.”

“Have they received any experimental medication?”

“Yes. Under medical supervision.”

“From whom?”

“Dr. Franklin Yates.”

Emily closed her eyes briefly.

“Then we need to examine their medical history immediately.”

I walked around my desk.

“You’re accusing my children’s doctor?”

“No. I’m telling you something doesn’t fit.”

“And what makes you think you’re qualified to know?”

Her voice softened.

“Because I lost my little sister to a disease everyone thought they understood.”

For the first time, her composure cracked.

“She was six years old. Just like your twins.”

The room fell silent.

Then she reached into her coat and removed a small, worn pH๏τograph.

It showed a little girl with two missing front teeth, smiling beneath a yellow birthday crown.

Emily placed it on my desk.

“My sister’s name was Lily.”

I looked at the pH๏τograph.

“What happened to her?”

Emily swallowed.

“She had leukemia. Her doctors kept changing medications, but nobody could explain why she kept deteriorating. Three weeks before she died, I discovered something in her medical records that changed everything.”

“What?”

“An incorrect medication dosage. It wasn’t the original cause of her illness, but it contributed to complications that her doctors failed to recognize.”

She looked at me.

“I spent the next four years studying pediatric patient advocacy, clinical records, and medication safety. I worked alongside families who couldn’t afford specialists. I learned how to recognize inconsistencies and how to demand independent reviews.”

I studied her face.

“Are you telling me you can cure my children?”

“No.”

Her answer came immediately.

“But I might be able to help find something their doctors have missed.”

The First Crack in the Medical Team

I ordered Prescott to take Emily to the medical suite.

Dr. Yates was still in the building.

When he saw her enter, his expression turned hostile.

“Who authorized this?”

“I did,” I answered.

He looked at Emily’s clothes, then at me.

“Lawson, this is completely inappropriate. Your children are critically ill. They cannot be subjected to random examinations by strangers.”

“She isn’t examining them. She’s reviewing the records.”

“She’s not medically qualified.”

“Neither are you qualified to tell me what I can and cannot investigate.”

Yates adjusted his glᴀsses.

“We’ve exhausted every appropriate treatment. I’ve explained this repeatedly.”

Emily stepped forward.

“Doctor, may I ask when the twins’ last comprehensive medication reconciliation was performed?”

He frowned.

“Excuse me?”

“A complete review of every medication, dosage, supplement, infusion, and interaction they’ve received.”

“We do that routinely.”

“When was the last one?”

“It’s in their records.”

“Then it should be easy to answer.”

Yates looked at me.

“This is a waste of time.”

Emily didn’t back down.

“Have the twins received any medication from outside the hospital pharmacy?”

The doctor went still.

It lasted less than a second.

But I saw it.

“What kind of question is that?” he snapped.

“A simple one.”

“All medications are properly documented.”

“Then you won’t mind an independent review.”

Yates turned toward me.

“Lawson, you cannot allow this woman to interfere with treatment. Every hour matters.”

I stepped closer.

“Exactly. Every hour matters. So why are you afraid of another review?”

His face hardened.

“I’m not afraid. I’m trying to protect your children.”

“Then cooperate.”

He gathered his files.

“I’ll be speaking with the hospital administration.”

“Good. Tell them I’ll be hiring an independent team.”

When he left, Emily watched the door.

“He didn’t like that question,” she whispered.

“Neither did I.”

She turned toward me.

“Mr. Mercer, I need something.”

“What?”

“Access to the complete records. Not summaries. Not selected reports. Everything.”

I looked at Prescott.

“Get it.”

The Records Nobody Wanted Reviewed

For the next two hours, Emily sat at the long conference table with three laptops, a stack of medical folders, and a notebook.

She didn’t pretend to understand everything.

Whenever she encountered something outside her expertise, she marked it for the independent physicians.

But she was exceptionally good at finding inconsistencies.

She compared dates.

She checked medication administration records against pharmacy invoices.

She matched laboratory results with treatment schedules.

And slowly, the picture became troubling.

“Mr. Mercer?”

I looked up.

“What?”

She turned her laptop toward me.

“Look at these dates.”

The twins had received a particular supportive medication every twelve hours during their hospital admissions.

But the medication administration records showed several unexplained changes.

Some doses had been delayed.

Others had been recorded under different product identifiers.

And there were discrepancies between the hospital records and the invoices submitted by the private medical supplier.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet. But someone needs to explain why the documentation doesn’t match.”

I called Prescott.

“Find out who supplies the twins’ medication.”

“Already on it.”

Emily continued scrolling.

Then she stopped.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“What?” I demanded.

She enlarged a document.

“This supplier.”

“What about it?”

“It appears repeatedly in both children’s records. But the invoices use different product descriptions for what seems to be the same medication.”

I leaned closer.

“Is that dangerous?”

“It could be a billing error. It could be a documentation issue. Or it could be something more serious. We need the actual pharmacy dispensing records and an independent pharmacist to examine everything.”

I stared at the screen.

For months, I’d been told there were no answers.

Now a woman who had arrived at my gates with nothing but a pH๏τograph and a worn coat had found questions nobody had bothered to ask.

Then my phone rang.

It was the medical suite.

I answered immediately.

“Mr. Mercer? It’s Nurse Patricia. Jonah’s temperature has risen again.”

I was already moving.

Ten Days Became Nine

Jonah was awake when I entered.

His cheeks were flushed, and his breathing was shallow.

Blythe lay beside him, her tiny hand resting on his blanket.

“Daddy?”

I rushed to his bedside.

“I’m here, buddy.”

“Am I going to the hospital again?”

I forced a smile.

“Only if the doctors say we need to.”

“I don’t want another needle.”

I sat beside him.

“I know.”

He looked at his sister.

“Can Bly come with me?”

“Of course.”

Emily stood quietly near the doorway.

She didn’t interrupt.

She simply watched the nurses check his temperature and oxygen levels.

When the medical team arrived, she stepped aside immediately.

The independent pediatrician examined Jonah and ordered urgent testing.

He also requested that all medication administration be independently reviewed before any further changes were made.

Yates arrived twenty minutes later.

“What is happening here?”

I looked at him.

“My son’s condition is worsening.”

“He’s experiencing another complication.”

“Then explain it.”

“Lawson, this is leukemia. Complications are expected.”

The independent pediatrician interrupted.

“Dr. Yates, we need the complete medication records before making that ᴀssumption.”

Yates turned sharply.

“I’m his attending physician.”

“And I’m responsible for this independent evaluation. Please provide the records.”

For several seconds, neither man moved.

Then Yates looked at me.

“You’re making a serious mistake.”

I stepped between him and my son’s bed.

“If my children die, I want to know that every possible question was answered. Every single one.”

Yates said nothing.

He walked out.

That evening, Jonah was transferred to a specialized pediatric unit for closer monitoring.

Blythe went with him.

And I sat outside their room for the first time in years without a weapon, a business meeting, or an enemy to worry about.

Only two children.

And nine days.

The Woman Who Refused to Leave

At 1:40 a.m., I found Emily sitting in the hospital corridor.

She was holding a paper cup of coffee.

“Why are you still here?”

She looked up.

“Because they’re still here.”

“You have no reason to stay.”

“I know.”

“I’m paying you nothing.”

“I didn’t come for money.”

I studied her.

“Everybody wants something.”

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she said, “When Lily was dying, my parents couldn’t afford the kind of specialist care she needed. We begged hospitals to review her case. We begged doctors to explain the changes in her treatment. People kept telling us there was nothing more they could do.”

Her eyes filled.

“I promised myself that if I ever saw another family going through something similar, I wouldn’t walk away just because I was poor or powerless.”

I looked down the corridor.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this at the gate?”

“Because you wouldn’t have believed me.”

She was right.

I wouldn’t have.

I sat in the chair opposite her.

“Emily, if you find something, you tell me immediately. If you don’t know something, you say so. No guessing. No promises.”

She nodded.

“Agreed.”

For the first time, I believed her.

The Discovery at 4:12 A.M.

Prescott called me just after four.

“Lawson, we have a problem.”

I stepped away from Emily.

“What now?”

“The pharmacy supplier has been billing the estate for medications that don’t match the hospital’s dispensing records.”

“How much?”

“Nearly two hundred thousand dollars over six months.”

My jaw тιԍнтened.

“Who approved the payments?”

“Dr. Yates’s medical administrator.”

“Find out who owns the supplier.”

“I’m working on it.”

Then Prescott lowered his voice.

“There’s something else. The company has an indirect connection to Crosby Vane.”

For a moment, the hospital corridor disappeared.

Crosby.

My oldest enemy.

The man who had spent years trying to dismantle my empire.

“What kind of connection?”

“One of the registered directors is his cousin. We’ve found financial transfers between the supplier and a company ᴀssociated with Vane’s organization.”

I closed my eyes.

The twins’ medical care.

The supplier.

My enemy.

And Dr. Yates.

It was beginning to look less like incompetence and more like a conspiracy.

But I needed proof.

“Don’t touch anything,” I ordered. “Preserve every document. Get the financial records through the proper channels. I want investigators involved.”

“Understood.”

When I returned, Emily was staring at her laptop.

“Mr. Mercer.”

Her voice was different.

“What?”

“I found something in the records.”

She turned the screen toward me.

A medication order had been entered under Dr. Yates’s credentials, then modified twice by an administrator.

The changes were not properly documented.

Emily pointed to the date.

“This was entered three days before Jonah’s last major deterioration.”

My stomach тιԍнтened.

“Does it prove someone harmed him?”

“No. But it proves the record needs forensic review. The independent pharmacist must determine exactly what was ordered, what was dispensed, and what was administered.”

I stared at the screen.

Then I saw the name attached to the modification.

Prescott Hale.

My security chief.

My closest confidant.

The man who had stood beside me for fifteen years.

I looked at Emily.

“Are you certain?”

She shook her head.

“I’m certain the record carries his authorization. I can’t tell you who actually used his credentials.”

Before I could respond, my phone rang.

Prescott.

I answered.

“Lawson, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

A pause.

“About the woman you’ve brought into your house.”

My blood turned cold.

“Why?”

His next words made my heart stop.

“Because I know who Emily Carter really is.”

The Secret Behind Emily Carter

I stared at the phone.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t trust her.”

“Explain.”

“Her sister’s death wasn’t what she told you.”

Emily slowly stood.

She could hear the conversation.

Prescott continued.

“Four years ago, she worked for a private medical company that was investigated for falsifying patient records. She was dismissed.”

Emily’s face went pale.

I lowered the phone.

“Is that true?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

Then she nodded.

“Yes.”

I felt anger rise inside me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was afraid you would send me away before I could explain.”

“What happened?”

Emily took a breath.

“I worked as a patient records ᴀssistant. I wasn’t a doctor. I wasn’t responsible for treatment. I discovered that several medication records had been altered after patients experienced complications.”

“Your sister’s records?”

“Yes.”

“Did you report it?”

“I tried. The company blamed me for accessing files I wasn’t authorized to access. They dismissed me and threatened legal action.”

She looked down.

“I kept copies of the documents I was legally allowed to retain. I spent years trying to get someone to investigate.”

I studied her.

“Why come here?”

“Because three days ago, I saw a notice from a caregiver agency looking for someone to ᴀssist your children. Their medical history wasn’t public, but I recognized the name of the supplier in a document I had previously encountered.”

She swallowed.

“I came because I thought the same company might be involved.”

I said nothing.

Then she added something that changed everything.

“Mr. Mercer, I didn’t come here to hurt your children. I came because I believe someone is using their illness to hide something.”

I looked at the phone.

“Prescott, where are you?”

“At the estate.”

“Stay there.”

I ended the call.

Then I looked at Emily.

“Until we know the truth, you don’t go anywhere near my children’s medication. You understand?”

“Of course.”

“And you tell the investigators everything.”

“I will.”

I turned toward the hospital room.

Jonah was sleeping.

Blythe was holding his hand.

Nine days remained.

And now I had to investigate two people I had trusted with my life.

The Man Behind the Money

By sunrise, federal investigators had been briefed on the suspected financial fraud and medical-record irregularities.

The independent hospital team confirmed that the twins required continued intensive treatment and that the suspicious medication discrepancies needed urgent forensic examination.

No one could yet say whether the discrepancies had contributed to their deterioration.

But there was enough evidence to justify a full investigation.

At 8:20 a.m., Prescott arrived at the hospital.

He looked exhausted.

I met him in a private conference room.

“Sit down.”

He didn’t.

“Lawson, you need to listen.”

“Why does your name appear on the authorization?”

His face changed.

“I never approved that.”

“Your credentials were used.”

“I know.”

“How?”

He pulled a small envelope from his jacket.

“Because someone accessed my security terminal two months ago.”

I stared at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it was an internal system error.”

He placed the envelope on the table.

Inside were printed access logs.

One entry showed a remote login using Prescott’s credentials.

The access originated from a device registered to the medical administration office.

“Who had access to that office?” I asked.

“Yates. His administrator. And a temporary systems technician.”

“Name?”

“Daniel Cross.”

Prescott looked at me.

“He disappeared last night.”

I slowly sat down.

“Find him.”

“We’re already working with investigators.”

Then Prescott hesitated.

“There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“Crosby Vane called me yesterday.”

My eyes narrowed.

“What did he want?”

“He said he knew your children were sick. He offered information about the supplier in exchange for access to your southern warehouse.”

I stared at him.

“And you?”

“I refused.”

For the first time in fifteen years, I couldn’t tell whether Prescott was telling me the truth.

I leaned forward.

“From this moment on, you are removed from every system connected to my children’s care. You will cooperate with the investigators. And you will not make a single decision without my authorization.”

He nodded.

“Understood.”

As he left, I realized something terrible.

My enemies hadn’t needed to break through my gates.

They had found a way inside my home through the people I trusted.

The First Good News

At 11:45 a.m., the independent pediatrician approached me.

I stood immediately.

“How are they?”

“Stable at the moment.”

“That’s all?”

He took a breath.

“We’ve completed the initial review. There are concerning discrepancies in the medication records, but we still need to establish what was actually administered.”

I waited.

“The good news is that we’ve identified additional supportive treatment options that may be appropriate for both children. We’ll proceed carefully, based on their individual test results.”

I gripped the back of a chair.

“Are you telling me there’s hope?”

He looked directly at me.

“I’m telling you that ten days is not a certainty. Prognoses are estimates, not countdown clocks. Your children need continued specialized treatment, but we are not giving up.”

My eyes burned.

For the first time in days, I allowed myself to breathe.

When I entered their room, Blythe was awake.

“Daddy?”

I sat beside her.

“Yes, princess?”

“Are we going home?”

I kissed her forehead.

“Not yet. But we’re going to keep fighting.”

Jonah opened one eye.

“Can we have pancakes when we go home?”

I laughed.

It came out broken and uneven, but it was a laugh.

“Every morning if you want.”

Blythe smiled.

“Chocolate ones?”

“Chocolate ones.”

Then she reached for my hand.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Can Emily come home with us?”

I looked toward the doorway.

Emily stood there quietly.

I glanced back at my daughter.

“Why?”

Blythe smiled faintly.

“Because she talks to us like we’re people, not sick children.”

I couldn’t answer.

So I simply squeezed her hand.

The Final Message

That evening, investigators received an anonymous message containing a pH๏τograph.

It showed Dr. Yates meeting Crosby Vane inside a private restaurant three weeks before the twins’ condition had worsened dramatically.

The pH๏τograph was accompanied by a short note:

The medication irregularities were only the beginning. Ask Yates what happened to Genevieve Mercer before the accident.

I read the message twice.

Genevieve.

My wife.

For two years, I’d believed her death was a tragic accident.

A wet road.

A damaged vehicle.

A driver who had lost control.

But now someone was telling me that her death might have been connected to the same people investigating my children’s medical care.

I looked at Emily.

She had gone pale.

“Do you recognize the location?” I asked.

She nodded slowly.

“It’s the restaurant where my sister’s medical company’s director used to meet private clients.”

I stared at her.

“Your sister’s case and my children’s case are connected?”

“I don’t know.”

She looked at the pH๏τograph again.

“But I think we need to find out.”

My phone buzzed.

An unknown number.

One message.

Stop investigating the twins’ medication, Lawson. You already lost your wife. Don’t make your children pay for your curiosity.

I read it once.

Then again.

Something inside me went cold.

I had spent my life making men afraid of the Mercer name.

Now someone had threatened my children from inside the shadows.

I put the phone on the table.

“Prescott.”

He appeared in the doorway.

“Sir?”

“Lock down the estate. Preserve every recording. Nobody enters or leaves without verification. And get the investigators everything we have.”

“Understood.”

I turned toward Emily.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to find out what happened to Genevieve.”

She looked at me.

“And if the people responsible are the same ones who have been interfering with the twins’ treatment?”

I glanced through the glᴀss at my children.

“Then they made one mistake.”

“What mistake?”

I looked back at her.

“They thought a father with nothing left to lose would be easy to control.”

I took Jonah’s small toy car from the bedside table and placed it beside his pillow.

Then I whispered:

“Not anymore.”

Nine days remained.

And for the first time, I wasn’t just fighting to save my children.

I was fighting to uncover the truth about everything that had destroyed my family.

To be continued…