Chapter 4
1069 Words
“Mr Nathan Woods, I'm afraid there is no cure, for now.”
Nathan didn’t move or blink. He stared, like a mummy.
“The scans confirm it, you have Huntington’s disease.” The neurologist paused, then continued. “It’s a degenerative neurological disorder which affects muscle coordination and leads to cognitive decline, psychiatric problems. There is, unfortunately… no known cure.”
Silence.
“How long?” Nathan finally asked, his voice hollow.
The doctor hesitated. “It varies from person to person—two, maybe three years. But the symptoms will gradually worsen. Movement difficulties, memory issues, emotional instability…”
The words faded into nothingness. The doctor handed him a sealed tube containing his medication.
“These are symptomatic drugs. They would help to ease and control the symptoms. But we’ll need regular evaluations from now on.”
Nathan took one look at the medication. His entire body felt cold and heavy.
He dragged himself up, and without a word, he left the office; the weight of slow death hung over him like a debt.
His phone buzzed.
Clara’s name flashed like bad memories across the screen, followed by an angry stream of messages:
"You’ve been ignoring me since last night. What’s your problem?”
“You think you can ghost me? After everything?”
“Or maybe you're simply scared to face me.”
“I’m here and here to stay.”
Nathan kept wondering how all these tantrums had become his business.
Aside from her toxicity, she was relentless: the mountain either comes to her or she goes to the hill.
The more he withdrew, the stronger she pressed.
When he got to the estate, Lord Graymon was pacing the length of his study, and his face was red with anger. Sitting across by the fireplace was His partner, Maurice Hands, and His solicitor, a man who had traded his bald head for long life and prosperity.
"Jacob Dome," Graymon spat the name like some soured whiskey. "Who the hell is Jacob Dome? How did he get his hands on my assets?"
For a second, Nathan felt like explaining. The alias had worked perfectly, allowing him to test the waters of his hidden wealth.
Lord Graymon turned to his solicitor, a balding man who looked equally perplexed. "Find out everything about this Jacob. I want his background, his associates, his favorite bloody color if you have to!"
"Yes, sir," the bald solicitor turned, gathered the papers into his briefcase and hastily left.
Graymon sank into his chair. "This can't be happening," he muttered.
Nathan stepped forward with a glass of water. “Water, sir.”
But it only ignited his fury. “If you as much as bring that drink near me, I'll use that glass to crush your thick skull.”
Nathan took heed and retreated cautiously like a toddler walking on a wet floor.
Upstairs, where Jessica was lodged with her new lover and husband-to-be, she had been somewhat fascinated by the mysterious aura with which Jacob Dome typed his message. Their conversation had been brief like a city council meeting, and she had found herself charmed by his confidence, not minding that the same Jacob Dome was currently his father's Nemesis.
From across the room, Silas cleared his throat lightly.
"Jess," he said, voice low but carrying. "You’ve been on that thing all evening."
She didn’t lift her eyes and was still typing into the phone as if she couldn't just make sense of what he said.
Silas leaned in. This time, he made sure his voice was louder and firmer.
“Darling!”
“Hmm?” Jessica was not paying attention.
“I said you've turned your phone into a soulmate.”
Jessica neither laughed nor frowned, and if she heard him, she gave no sign.
“Honey, everything okay?” Silas pressed.
“Yeah.” She kept typing. “I'm just following up with a client for business.”
She looked up and flashed Silas a smile, and like a child deprived of attention, he smiled back.
Her gaze went back to the screen. She didn't know who Jacob Dome really was, but the mystery in his tone and charm kept her hooked.
By evening, the household was awakened to the news of Engineer Logan Pierce’s death, which was aired on the BBC:
“Political magnate and Engineer, Logan Pierce, feared death in what seemed to be a gun shootout. His lifeless body was recovered from the dock this morning. All effort has been made to apprehend the culprits…”
Nathan stood by a corner, unmoved. Lord Graymon sprang up, shock written over him, while Silas curled up by the fireplace, unbothered.
“Dead? Impossible!”
“But I just spoke to him two days ago.”
Maurice said.
Jessica looked up to her father. “You knew him well?”
"He was a close associate," Graymon replied, sinking back into his chair. "This is... pathetic."
Nathan watched the scene unfold like a sad story. Logan's death had brought him wealth and had changed his life.
A servant in a suit entered. "Delivery for Lord Graymon," he announced.
Graymon snatched the envelope from the Bastard and impatiently tore the seal, revealing a letter which he read. Maurice stood back and stole a glance.
"What is it?" Jessica asked, noticing his reaction.
"A death threat," Maurice responded, his voice barely a whisper.
The room fell silent, like a midsummer night's dream.
"You're next on the list, you'll go the same way Logan went... soon."
Jessica let out a nervous chuckle. “Is this some prank?”
Graymon shot her a glare. “You think this is a joke? Jessica. Logan’s dead. This letter was delivered directly to me with no name, no return address. Just those words.”
Nathan shot Silas a gaze. He was still sitting by the fireplace, unconcerned about who would die or live.
A lot of thought ran through Nathan's mind. “Who knows, the sender could be someone from Logan's past, or from Graymon's political circle.”
Jessica shot him a look, the type that strips you of dignity.
“Stay out of this. When we need food to be tasted, we'll ask your opinion.”
Nathan swallowed hard.
“I’ll call security.” Graymon declared.
“No. We shouldn't create panic until I know who’s behind this,” Maurice said firmly, his gaze fixed on Nathan.
- Writer
