Dr Harrison Wells Novels & Stories

"What were the documents about?" "Mr. Harrison was...is in cahoots with the big banks. He, and these banks, have been playing everyone who can barely make do with what they have. They loan out money to people only so these people can go into debt and borrow more money again from them when prices go up over time. Harrison Inc. has been involved in this for years; that's why they, along with all those other bankers, were living it good during the recession of 2008. They knew how to play the system. The documents also talked about funding campaigns for politicians in order for those said politicians to become his pawns when they were elected into Congress. Notice how the politicians he funded s

"Call them. I want them here in an hour. We're going live at dawn." —·—·— Three hours later. Dr. Harrison was the first to arrive. He was seventy-two years old. According to my private spies, he was retired, broke, and desperate. I liked desperate people. They were easy to control. "You understand what I'm asking you to do?" I sat across from him in my study. Marcus stood by the door. "You want me to go on television and say your medical records are fake." "I want you to go on television and tell the truth. The leaked records are fake. You've reviewed them. You've confirmed the inconsistencies, and you've compared them to my actual medical history and found significant discrepancies."

Marcus’ POV Dr. Harrison had performed over three hundred autopsies during his ten year career as a medical examiner. He had seen bodies in every possible state of decay, had examined victims of murders, suicides, accidents, and natural deaths. He dealt with grieving families, and complicated legal cases. But he never had a corpse sit up and scream at him. "Sweet mother of God," he gasped, stumbling backward so quickly that he knocked over a tray of surgical instruments. The metal tools scattered across the floor with a crash that echoed through the room we were in.

That searing gaze. Harrison sat on the leather sofa, wearing a dark gray cotton shirt, his broad frame relaxed in appearance but his eyes burning with an intensity that made my knees weak. Beside him stood his loyal Beta David. “You made it,” said a man in a white coat. He was middle-aged, with red hair and a polite smile. “Miss Dalton, hello. I’m Dr. Cassius Sterling. Lucien asked me to oversee your checkup.” I bowed my head quickly. “Thank you Sir.”

She glances over them and looks and scavenger quickly between aisles, but I'm left still missing two books. "Oh, I'm sorry I don't have these books. But, I can order them for you. Unfortunately, I can't really tell you how long it will be until I get them in. But, leave me your number and I will call you as soon as they arrive." I puff it cheeks, making a loose strand of hair fly over my face. "Ok, thank you. I really appreciate that." "Which books is she missing?" Russell questions. "Anthropology 5 and Advanced Quantum Physics." She informs Russell. "Wait, is it for Dr. Helms?" He asks looking over my schedule.

all faded into a dull, underwater hum. "Tyler?" Sarah’s voice called out from behind me, sharp and curious. "Who is that on the phone? Is that Miller?" I didn't turn around. I couldn't. If she saw my face right now, she would know. I hate being in this position, hiding things from her. I made a promise to right my wrongs and win her back but these situations life keeps throwing our way makes it impossible to keep to my promise. "Mr. Rider, are you still there?" Dr. Harrison’s voice pressed through the receiver, brutal and final. "I need you to understand me clearly. Mr. Dex has passed on. Time of death was 14:32. I am incredibly sorry for your loss."

“Listen to me. I was in a coma for 2 months so things are a little different with me. I don’t know how I was before, or if I was someone you took seriously. But I need you to take me seriously on this.” “There is a doctor, Dr. Harrison. He is here in Australia. He performs plastic surgeries. He is the best of them. Look into him. find out if he performed any major surgeries for anyone called Ethan. It may not even be in his books but you may be able to find a trace.” “Elena, I thought we’re talking about your friend, Cameroon.” “yes, we’re.” “So who is this Dr. you are referring to?” She ran her hand across her hair.

Harrison pushed her harder against the door, his hand sliding down to grip her thigh, hoisting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist instantly, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Is this how you handle mistakes, Doctor?" she whispered against his ear, her voice a sultry dare. "This isn't a mistake," Harrison rasped, his mouth finding the sensitive curve of her neck. "This is an execution." He carried her toward the large oak desk, sweeping a stack of medical journals and a tablet to the floor with one violent motion. He sat her on the edge, the cold wood a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between them.

The older physician had completely shed his lab coat, carrying nothing but a digital medical slate in his left hand and a small, sealed white diagnostic kit in his right. The temperature in the bedroom seemed to plummet to an absolute, dead silence. Adrian stood frozen at the foot of the bed, his large chest rising and falling slowly, his fists clenching at his sides as he prepared himself for the worst possible medical diagnosis. His mind, always trained to anticipate the most catastrophic outcome, was already running through lists of the world's leading specialists, private medical clinics in Switzerland, and experimental treatments. "The blood panels are fully processed, Mr. Wolfe," Dr. H

The Robert Wells Foundation held its first board meeting under Harper's direction on a Tuesday in November. The room was small. The board was small deliberately. Harper had spent a month selecting people based on expertise and genuine investment rather than social connection or obligation to Carr. Dr. Reeves was there. She had agreed without hesitation and arrived seven minutes early, which Harper had expected. Samuel Briggs was there as legal counsel. A hematology researcher named Dr. William Hughes from a university hospital two hours away, who had published work on autoimmune blood disorders that Joel had been reading for years and who had nearly fallen off his chair when Harper called hi