Theodore Whitmore studied Alexander Blackwood with a weary sigh. "Out of your entire group, you're the one carrying the heaviest burden today. By far the most complicated case sitting before me."

Nathan Prescott exchanged a puzzled glance with Alexander, who merely shrugged. They'd spent months and a small fortune tracking down this legendary healer. Yet the old man couldn't even identify which of them was terminally ill? Either he was a fraud or playing some elaborate game.

Victoria Langley's eyes sparkled with sudden understanding. If this was a charlatan, that worked perfectly for her scheme. Con artists only cared about money - easily manipulated. She could fake taking his "miracle cure," pretend to improve, then declare herself healed within the year. The solution to her acting dilemma had arrived unexpectedly.

Alexander settled into the chair opposite Theodore, extending his wrist. The elderly man's gnarled fingers pressed against his pulse point.

Nathan watched like a hawk. If this quack dared claim Alexander was the dying one, he'd personally drag the fraud through Newhaven's streets with a "CON ARTIST" sign around his neck.

Theodore shook his head mournfully. "Such tragedy. So young, yet your body's already failing you in multiple ways."

Nathan's jaw clenched. The scam was on! Just as he drew breath to expose the fraud, Alexander's calm voice sliced through the tension.

"Would you care to elaborate on my supposed terminal conditions?"

Nathan bit his tongue, realizing Alexander wanted to see how far the old man would take this charade.

Theodore stroked his silver beard thoughtfully. "Your eyesight is deteriorating rapidly. Without intervention, blindness looms within years."

"Your heart..." He tapped his own chest. "Misplaced. Literally shifted several centimeters from where it should be."

"But the real catastrophe?" Theodore tapped his temple. "Your brain appears flooded with some viscous, toxic substance. The consistency of overcooked porridge. With such severe systemic failures, how could this not be terminal?"

Nathan had been ready to dismiss the man as a common swindler. But the specific anatomical claims gave him pause. Could Alexander actually have a displaced heart? By the time Theodore finished, Nathan realized they were being toyed with.

The old fox!

Alexander's lips quirked in understanding. "You seem to harbor significant... reservations about us."

Theodore removed his spectacles with deliberate slowness. "At least some cognitive function remains intact." Nathan bristled, but Alexander raised a silencing hand.

"May I ask what earned us this hostility?"

Theodore's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You reek of trouble. My instincts rarely lie."

Alexander remained unruffled. "Setting aside first impressions, do you actually possess the skill to treat our condition?"