Chapter 6 - The Price of Staying SickAlexander did not sleep.
Neither did Lily.
By sunrise, they were in a private room at North Texas Children’s Medical Center with a new team.
Dr. Elena Brooks, a pediatric neurologist with no connection to Mercer, reviewed Lily’s imaging.
She refused to make promises.
Alexander respected her immediately.
“I need you to tell me the truth.”
“I will.”
“Can she walk?”
Dr. Brooks looked at Lily, not him.
“I don’t know yet.”
Lily swallowed.
“Can I try?”
“Yes. Safely.”
That answer mattered.
Testing took hours.
Strength.
Reflexes.
Imaging.
Nerve conduction.
Pain response.
Balance.
By afternoon, Dr. Brooks sat with them.
“Lily has real weakness. Significant deconditioning. Some nerve injury. And fear.”
Alexander leaned forward.
“But?”
“But I see voluntary motor function in both legs.”
Lily’s eyes widened.
Dr. Brooks continued.
“That does not mean she will suddenly walk across a room. It means a carefully supervised rehabilitation program is medically reasonable.”
Alexander pressed one hand to his mouth.
For eighteen months, he had been told active rehabilitation could worsen Lily’s condition.
“Was keeping her out of active rehab necessary?”
Dr. Brooks chose her words carefully.
“Not based on what I’m seeing now.”
Noah sat quietly beside Teresa.
Lily looked at him.
“You were right.”
Noah shook his head.
“My mom was.”
Alexander heard that.
So did everyone.
Rachel spent the day tracing Mercer’s research funding.
The program collected private grants for children classified as having severe long-term mobility impairment.
Lily’s continued enrollment helped secure donor money.
That alone did not prove fraud.
But the billing became stranger.
Repeated high-cost assessments.
Experimental monitoring fees.
Consulting charges.
The same assessments, month after month.
Then Rachel found an internal memo.
PATIENT L.C. — maintain protocol status pending next funding cycle.
Alexander’s name appeared beneath it.
DONOR RELATIONSHIP HIGH PRIORITY.
He felt sick.
Lily was not only a patient.
She was leverage.
Then Teresa’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her face went pale.
“What?”
She looked at Noah.
Their apartment building had changed the locks.
Rent was three months behind.
They had nowhere to go that night.
Alexander looked at Noah.
May you like
Noah looked down at his bare feet.
And for the first time, Alexander understood why the boy had come to the ballroom wearing everything he owned.
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