Chapter 4 - The Duke Health SpecialistsBy Friday morning, the tension had shifted from the corporate boardroom back to the sprawling limestone estate in Briar Glen.
A specialized mobile medical unit from Duke Health—a sleek, white-and-silver van bearing the university hospital’s medical crest—was parked directly in front of the grand fountain on the mansion’s circular driveway.
Inside the East Wing’s private consultation room, which Jonathan had converted into a temporary medical fitting suite, two senior prosthetics engineers and a lead orthopedic surgeon were unpacking state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment.
Annie sat on the examination table, her hands nervously smoothing out the fabric of her black skirt. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Relax, Annie," a warm voice said from the doorway.
She looked up. Jonathan walked into the room, dressed in a crisp charcoal button-down with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He wasn't acting like her employer today; he looked more like a protective older brother or a concerned partner.
"Mr. Graves... I didn't think you'd be here for the initial fitting," Annie said, her voice small. "I thought you had meetings at the downtown office."
"I rescheduled them," Jonathan said simply, walking over and leaning against the edge of the medical table. He looked down at her with a gentle, reassuring smile. "This is a big day, Annie. You didn't think I was going to let you face a room full of doctors by yourself, did you?"
Annie felt a warm flush rise up her neck. "I'm just... I'm not used to people making a fuss over me. Usually, when things break in my life, I just figure out how to glue them back together and keep moving."
"Well, you're not gluing anything together today," the lead surgeon, Dr. Thomas Vance (no relation to the disgraced executive), interjected cheerfully as he approached with a digital scanning wand. "Today, we're building you something better."
For the next two hours, the room was a flurry of high-tech wizardry.
Dr. Thomas and his team used laser-mapping scanners to capture the exact contours of Annie’s residual limb. They measured muscle tension, nerve impulse responses, and gait dynamics. Then, they brought out the centerpiece: a lightweight, aerospace-grade carbon-fiber prosthesis equipped with a microprocessed knee joint that used onboard gyroscopes and AI-driven machine learning to predict the user’s stride in real-time.
When they finally helped Annie strap the temporary diagnostic socket into place and asked her to stand up, the room went completely still.
Annie looked down at her right leg. It didn't look like a piece of industrial machinery. It looked sleek, modern, and perfectly balanced.
"Take a step," Dr. Thomas encouraged gently.
Annie took a cautious breath, shifted her weight, and pushed forward.
The microprocessed knee flexed smoothly, responding instantly to the electrical impulses in her thigh muscles. There was no squeak. No slipping locking pin. No agonizing jolt of friction against scarred tissue.
She walked across the hardwood floor of the consultation room—once, twice, three times—her stride growing steadier, faster, and more natural with every step.
Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over her lashes as she stopped and looked up at Jonathan, who was watching her with a look of profound, quiet awe.
"How does it feel?" Jonathan asked softly.
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"It feels..." Annie choked out a laugh through her tears, pressing a hand to her mouth. "It feels like I'm flying."
Jonathan smiled, a warm, brilliant expression that made the breath catch in her throat. "Good. Because you've been dragging weights for too long, Annie. It's time you learned how to run."
