“I didn’t turn it into anything.”
Charles swung toward him.
Lydia spoke first.
“Call an ambulance.”
Her father stared at her.
“For him?”
“For me.”
Charles laughed once, without humor.
“You are not injured.”
“I want a doctor who does not work for you.”
The sentence landed harder than Lydia expected.
A woman among the guests had already dialed.
Charles saw the phone in her hand.
“Cancel that.”
She did not.
Eli sat on the grass beside the stallion until estate staff finally loosened the strap. The horse lowered its head almost immediately.
That detail mattered later.
At the hospital, Lydia insisted that her father remain outside the examination room.
He protested until a patient advocate explained that Lydia could request privacy and that the clinical team would decide how to proceed based on her capacity and age, not his social position.
For the first time that day, someone said no to Charles Vale without lowering their eyes.
The neurologist did not promise Lydia anything.
He tested temperature, pressure, pinprick, position, reflexes, and voluntary muscle activation. Some responses were absent. Some were weak. Sensation was patchy but unmistakable.
He reviewed the summary records Charles’s office provided.
Then he frowned.
“These are not complete.”
Lydia watched him.
“What’s missing?”
“Your original imaging and rehabilitation notes.”
Charles, allowed back into the room after Lydia agreed, answered before the doctor could continue.
“They are old and irrelevant.”
