Chapter 4 - The Ugly Truth
Daniel Mercer paced the small consultation room like a caged animal. He was a former investigative journalist who had lost his career after poking around in the wrong political circles. But when his sister—Andrew’s wife—died of a mysterious illness three years ago, Daniel had never stopped digging.
“It’s Vance,” Daniel spat, his fists clenched. “Dr. Harrison Vance. The town loves him. He donates to the police charity, he sponsors the Little League teams. He acts like the savior of this county.”
“He’s the chief of staff at the private clinic,” Natalie said, her mind racing. “He wrote Ashley’s prescriptions.”
“He didn’t just write them, he manipulated them,” Daniel explained, pulling a thick, waterlogged manila folder from his coat. “My sister, Sarah, had the same autoimmune condition Ashley has. Vance treated her. He put her on a specialized, high-cost regimen. But she kept getting sicker. When she died, Vance chalked it up to an aggressive mutation of the disease.”
Daniel threw a stack of documents onto the table. “Six months ago, Ashley started showing the same symptoms. Vance put her on the same ‘generic’ regimen. Andrew works double shifts at the lumber yard just to afford the co-pays. But last week, Andrew accidentally spilled one of Ashley’s capsules into the sink. He tasted the powder on his fingers. It was sugar. Pure, granulated sugar.”
Natalie felt the air leave her lungs. “Vance has been swapping the pills.”
“It’s a multi-million dollar fraud,” Daniel said, tears welling in his eyes. “He prescribes the high-end, life-saving drugs, bills the insurance companies tens of thousands of dollars, keeps the real pills to sell to wealthy private clients off the books, and gives his local, working-class patients sugar pills. He’s letting people die to line his pockets.”
“And Andrew found out.”
“Andrew called me four days ago,” Daniel said, his voice breaking. “He was furious. He drove straight to Vance’s private compound outside of town. He said he was going to force Vance to give him the real medicine, and then we were going to the FBI. That was the last time I heard his voice. I’ve been out in the storm for three days searching for his truck.”
Natalie stared at the folder. The town had spent the last eight hours crucifying Andrew on the internet. They had called him a monster, a coward, an abuser. They had judged a desperate father based on a few out-of-context photos of an empty house.
Meanwhile, the real monster was likely sitting in his mansion, sleeping soundly, believing the working-class father he had locked in a cellar was dead, and the little girl he was slowly poisoning would soon follow.
Natalie’s radio buzzed. “Officer Natalie, be advised. Dr. Harrison Vance is currently in the hospital lobby. He heard about the child’s admission and is offering his medical expertise to the media.”
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Natalie and Daniel exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated fury.
“Not on my watch,” Natalie said. She unclipped her handcuffs from her belt. “Come on, Daniel. Let’s go show this town what a real monster looks like.”
