Ryan Carter stepped into The Copper Lantern and gave the hostess the number of the private room. A sharply dressed waiter led him down a hallway to a mahogany door.
Inside, Professor Frank Turner, an older man with silver hair and an easy smile, stood up the second Ryan entered. "Ryan, you made it," he said warmly, walking over and opening the door wider for him.
There were two other people at the table: a woman in her sixties wearing a tailored navy jacket, and a man in his mid-fifties with an academic air.
Ryan didn't recognize the woman, but the man looked vaguely familiar—someone he'd seen from a distance before.
"Ryan, this is a big honor for me," Frank said, his voice tinged with genuine enthusiasm. "Let me introduce you…" He gestured toward the woman. "This is my wife, Dr. Catherine Pike. She's a semi-retired research scientist from Westlake University, still active on a few projects."
Then, with a grin, he added, "Catherine, this is Ryan—the man I've told you about."
Dr. Pike's expression was cool, even a little stiff. When Frank had mentioned earlier that a "mentor's mentor" figure—someone young—was coming tonight, she'd assumed he meant "young" as in mid-forties at best. The sight of Ryan, barely in his twenties, being treated like a senior colleague, clearly didn't sit easily with her.
Ryan caught the tension immediately. He smiled politely. "Please, Dr. Pike, just call me Ryan. No need for any titles. Times have changed—relationships in academia and professional mentorships don't need the old formalities."
That seemed to thaw her expression slightly.
Frank frowned. "Ryan, it's about respect. Catherine, I'd like you to see him as someone whose expertise in certain areas is worth acknowledging—"
"Alright, alright," Catherine cut in, a trace of amusement at his sudden insistence. They'd been married over forty years, and Frank rarely lost composure. She gave Ryan a small bow of her head. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ryan."
He returned the gesture. "The pleasure's mine, Dr. Pike."
Frank, satisfied, turned to the middle-aged man. "And this is Dr. Leonard Brooks, President of Westlake University—and one of my most accomplished former students."
Ryan's memory clicked. "President Brooks—I saw you at graduation last week. I'm a recent Computer Science graduate. It's an honor to meet you in person."
Brooks nodded, polite but reserved. "Likewise."
Frank had intended to bridge the connection between Ryan and Brooks, but seeing his former student's lukewarm reception, he decided to let it drop. Privately, he knew Leonard had just missed a valuable opportunity.
They all sat. Ryan couldn't help but glance at Brooks again—part curiosity, part the temptation to take a picture for social media bragging rights. Of course, that would be ridiculous.
But then Ryan's gaze lingered, his instincts sharpening. Something wasn't right. The subtle droop in the man's eyelid, the faint pallor, the way he held his head slightly to one side—Ryan's training in advanced diagnostic techniques kicked in.
"President Brooks," he said casually, "when was your last full medical exam?"
Brooks blinked at him. "Why?"
"I'd recommend scheduling one soon," Ryan said evenly. "Preferably this week."
Frank turned to Brooks immediately. "Leonard, if Ryan says that, you should take it seriously."
Brooks gave a short laugh. "Frank, you're an accomplished physician yourself. Do you really believe someone can spot a medical issue just by looking at me? No offense, Ryan, but that sounds a bit like fortune-telling."
Before Ryan could reply, the door opened and two more guests entered: Dr. George Holland, a towering figure in the medical community, and his assistant, Lisa Monroe.
Lisa greeted Ryan warmly, and Catherine Pike's demeanor brightened upon hearing Lisa introduce him with such confidence.
George Holland took the head seat at the table, Ryan to his left, Frank to his right. Brooks found himself seated further down than he liked, which clearly irked him, but he stayed quiet—it was Frank's seating chart, after all.
Catherine and Brooks greeted George with notable respect. George was not just a senior in age and position; he was widely regarded as one of the most skilled diagnosticians in the country.
"Relax, everyone," George said with a grin. "We're here to enjoy ourselves. Catherine, is your son and his wife joining us?"
"They should be here shortly," Catherine said, though her voice carried a note of worry.
George turned to Brooks. "Leonard, you're looking well."
Brooks seized the chance. "Thank you, Dr. Holland. Though, interestingly, our young friend Ryan here suggested I should get a physical—implying there's something wrong."
It was a subtle attempt to challenge Ryan by invoking George's authority.
But George's reaction wasn't what Brooks expected. He sat up straighter and looked at Ryan. "Did you notice something?"
"Yes," Ryan said.
George nodded. "Then listen to him, Leonard. Ryan's skill in certain areas of diagnosis surpasses even mine. If he says you should get checked, don't brush it off."
Brooks's smirk faltered. "Well… I have been staying up late, yes. And I do get the occasional nosebleed."
"And sudden weakness?" Ryan asked.
Brooks hesitated. "Sometimes. But I've been attributing it to stress."
Ryan leaned forward. "Stress doesn't usually explain that combination of symptoms. Based on what I'm seeing, there's a high likelihood of a growth—possibly a tumor—in your brain. If you delay treatment, you could be risking your life. Get an MRI as soon as possible."
Brooks paled slightly. His earlier arrogance faded into unease. For all his skepticism, he valued his health—and he knew people at his level didn't get many second chances.
"I… I think I'll head to the hospital now, just to be safe," he said, rising from his seat. "I'll be back if I can."
The room fell into a thoughtful silence as he left.
Ryan simply took a sip of his water, his mind already moving to whatever was coming next.