Doctor Jonathan Crane Novels & Stories

“I should be speaking to him. The patient's father. Not his uncle.” JT didn’t blink. His voice was calm. Controlled. Deadly. “You’re speaking to me,” he said with a smirk on his face. Something in his tone made the doctor pause. Suddenly, the men in black moved mechanically toward the doctor, circling him like a wounded prey. “I'm Jonathan Thorne, the patient's uncle. Still wanna speak with his father?” The doctor hesitated, studying the men in black for a beat, then nodded. “All right. But what we found in Hayden’s blood… doesn’t make sense. Let’s speak privately.”

He knows I don’t skimp on the good liquor. The door opens and I stand up. Crane appears through the door with Matt as he closes the door behind him. Crane seems to be frozen in time. He looks old and wrinkled and well past his prime but is still as active as a young wolf. His eyebrows stand up like they were electrocuted and his nose is slightly crooked. I’m sure in his prime he was better looking. Now, he looks like life has fucked him every day and he can’t remember the safe word.

He only gives a curt nod in every situation. His employees called him “The ice man” when they thought he couldn't hear. But today? Today, he was coming undone right in front of me. Out of nowhere, he stood slowly, his movement stiff and mechanical. My gaze locked on him. Eager to see his next move. “Leo Crane.” His voice came out rough and forced. “CEO of Grey Jewelry and Co.” He extended his hand, but everything about it screamed reluctance. Anthony glanced at the offered hand, a dismissive look written all over his face.

Nicolas Crane, thirty one, brown-skinned, broad-shouldered, the kind of open face that made people trust him immediately. The kind of man who asked about your work and meant it. Dominic pressed his thumb into the center of his palm. He did not know why he knew that detail. He had read it somewhere, an interview Crane had given to a design publication, something about his management philosophy, about creating space for his team. He had read the whole thing and then closed the tab and gone back to his quarterly projections. He was fine.

The cursor blinked on the screen, taunting them with silence. Aiden’s heart sank as he stared at the name displayed on the document. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Julian leaned in closer, still trying to make sense of what they were seeing. Dominic Crane. Chairman of Crane Strategic Holdings. One of the major shareholders of VanDermere Global. A family friend. A mentor. Julian sat back slowly, as if the shock physically pushed him. He blinked once, then twice, before whispering, “That can’t be right.”

Frank narrowed his eyes. "Is that so?' Crane shrugged. "I don't mind giving it to you straight—members of Torrent are actually… Ahem. A part of Torrent himself." Frank paused. "What's that supposed to mean?" "You don't get it, do you?" Crane grinned. "Then let me put it to you this way—every member is a clone of Torrent." "A clone?" Frank gasped in realization. "Yes," Crane nodded. "That's why I believe that challenging Crane is just suicide. You have no idea how powerful he is—only death awaits you down that path."

He snarled, "Get out! You are not welcome here." Qin Haodong looked puzzled. He was about to be kicked out as soon as he entered the door. Frey looked as if he had sexually assaulted his wife. What did he mean by that? Jennifer said, "Frey, what are you doing? This is the doctor I invited for my sister." Frey was furious, "Doctor, my ass! He's a liar and a jerk! Dr. Owen, who is an oncologist from the World Medical Association, just said that there is no other way your cousin's disease can be cured except for surgery, so you have been deceived."

He replied with one word: Understood. Bless the child. He meant what I meant: instruct two editors, three influencers, and one priest with debts to bless. Let them leak the “good news” in tasteful fonts. Let the world congratulate a man before he can ask his questions out loud. You can’t drag a woman through the mud with gusto when people are painting her as a Madonna. But even as I pressed Go on the plan, a needle of panic threaded my ribs. The note. I’d seen it in her hand before she made it disappear. Visit her doctor. How? Who? Crane swore his end was sealed. Father swore Dr. Morgan was sealed tighter.

"Suicide. Single gunshot to the head. Hotel room at the Veritas. My people found him twenty minutes ago. He was already cold." “At least he was thorough. And saved me the trouble of testifying.” "He left a note." "What kind of note?" "A confession. Handwritten, notarized yesterday." He spoke in short bursts, each word precise and hard. "Insurance fraud, patient murders, conspiracy to commit murder." "And a partner. Dr. Richard Chen.” My hands went numb. "Who?" "Dr. Richard Chen. Chief of Internal Medicine at Boston Memorial. Your old colleague." Dr. Chen. My mentor. The man who'd recommended me for residency, who'd praised my work.

The embers glow orange. Marcus is outside, checking the perimeter. I hear his boots on the gravel, the soft crackle of his radio, the murmur of his voice. Every few minutes, he passes by the window, a shadow in the dark. My phone buzzes. A text from Julian. Crane is moving. He left Switzerland. He is flying to the city. Arrives tomorrow morning. Whitmore is staying behind at the compound. Crane is coming alone, but he will have security with him. He wants to meet. Neutral ground. He says he has information about Whitmore's plans.