Chapter 5. The Lie
The doctor arrived almost immediately, panting slightly as he was directed down the long marble corridor that led to Archibald’s private suite. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mixed with the faint perfume of fresh lilies placed near the doorway. Two worried figures—Leo and Andre—stood outside the door, their faces tight with anxiety.
“Doctor, please hurry,” Leo said, his voice trembling. “He’s been unresponsive since morning.”
The doctor nodded briskly and entered the room, adjusting his stethoscope around his neck. “Please, can you leave us alone?” he said firmly.
“Why?” Andre asked sharply, exchanging a quick glance with Leo. “We have the right to stay here. He’s our father.”
“I understand,” the doctor replied calmly, though his tone carried quiet authority. “But I won’t be able to treat him properly with anyone around. I need concentration. Please.”
Leo sighed, shoulders slumping. “Okay,” he muttered, defeated. “Just… help him.”
“We’ll be right outside,” Andre added before they stepped out reluctantly, closing the door behind them.
Inside, the room was silent except for the soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Archibald lay still, his once strong face now pale and lined with exhaustion. The doctor placed his bag on the nearby table, adjusted his stethoscope, and leaned closer.
He checked Archibald’s pulse, blood pressure, and heart rate. Everything was within normal range. His brows furrowed.
“Sir,” the doctor said slowly, “you are okay. Your vitals are stable. Everything seems fine.”
Archibald opened his eyes weakly, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Of course, I will be okay,” he rasped, “but if you don’t help me… I will not be okay.”
The doctor froze. “What do you mean?”
Archibald’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “Come closer.”
The doctor hesitated, then leaned in. The old man’s breath was warm against his ear. “I need you to tell them something,” Archibald murmured. “Something false.”
“False?” The doctor’s eyes widened. “Sir, what are you asking me to do?”
“Just a small lie,” Archibald said with effort, gripping the doctor’s wrist with surprising strength. “You know you owe me, Doctor.”
The words hit like a thunderclap. The doctor stiffened. Memories flashed before his eyes—the scholarship fund that had saved his medical studies years ago, the anonymous benefactor who later revealed himself as Archibald Blake, the billionaire whose influence could make or destroy a career.
“Hmmm,” the doctor said uneasily, clearing his throat. “Sir, it’s against my medical profession to—”
Archibald interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “It’s just a white lie. Nothing more. And it comes with a reward—a huge one. More money than you earn in a year. You have a family, don’t you?”
The doctor swallowed hard. “Yes… two children.”
“Then think about them,” Archibald whispered. “Tell my sons I don’t have much time left. That I’m dying.”
The doctor blinked, unsure he’d heard correctly. “But you’re not dying! Your vitals are normal—”
“Exactly,” Archibald said. “But they must believe I am. For now.”
“Why would you want that?” The doctor’s voice was hushed, trembling.
Archibald turned his head slightly, staring at the ceiling. “Because truth is a dangerous thing, Doctor. There are secrets in this family—secrets that will destroy everything if they come out before I’m ready. I need time. Time to set things right.”
The doctor stared at him, heart pounding. “Sir, you’re asking me to deceive your own sons.”
“I’m asking you to protect them,” Archibald replied quietly. “And to protect yourself.”
A long silence settled between them. The doctor’s mind raced. He could lose his license. His reputation. Everything. But the desperation in the old man’s voice… it was too human to ignore.
“Please,” Archibald whispered again. “Do this for me.”
The doctor exhaled shakily, feeling his morals slip like sand between his fingers. “This… this isn’t right.”
Archibald smiled faintly. “Right and wrong are sometimes decided by who tells the story.”
A minute passed. Then another. Finally, the doctor nodded.
“Fine,” he said softly. “But I’ll need to make it look convincing.”
Archibald closed his eyes, relief washing over his face. “Do what you must.”
Ten minutes later, the door opened. Leo and Andre rushed forward, eyes filled with worry.
“Doctor! What happened? How is he?” Andre asked, gripping his arm.
The doctor hesitated, glancing back toward the bed. Archibald lay still, pretending to breathe heavily, his skin dampened with a sheen of water the doctor had sprinkled to make him look feverish.
The doctor’s face was pale. “His condition is… worsening,” he said slowly.
“What?” Leo’s voice cracked. “But you said earlier he’d be fine!”
“I thought so too,” the doctor replied, shaking his head. “But his vitals dropped suddenly. His body is reacting strangely. I’ve given him some injections and new medications. All you can do now is pray and let him rest.”
Tears welled in Andre’s eyes. “No, no, this can’t be happening.”
“Please,” the doctor said softly. “Just let him take his medicine. I hope… I truly hope he will recover.”
Leo gripped the doctor’s sleeve. “Doctor, be honest. How bad is it?”
The doctor looked away, his conscience screaming. “It’s… very bad.”
Andre sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. “God, why now?”
The doctor turned toward the door, unable to bear their grief. As he stepped out of the room, the weight of the lie settled on his shoulders like a mountain.
Outside, in the empty hallway, he paused and pressed his back against the wall. His breath came in shallow bursts.
What have I done?
His mind screamed the question over and over. He had just condemned two innocent sons to grief—and for what? Money? Gratitude? Fear?
He rubbed his eyes, trembling. “God forgive me,” he whispered. “I hope he knows what he’s doing.”
Inside, Archibald opened one eye slowly, a cunning glint flashing beneath his wrinkles. “Sometimes,” he murmured to himself, “a lie is the only truth that saves.”
Outside the mansion, thunder rolled across the sky.
