Chapter 123: The Doctor from the Accident
"Is this your home?!" Frank exclaimed, standing in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and gazing at the skyscrapers opposite. He was astonished by the ant-like crowds below.
Frank had assumed this man was just a down-and-out vagabond. To his surprise, following him led to a spacious apartment in a luxury high-rise building, with at least 300 to 400 square meters.
This was New York, an international metropolis, not a small town. The real estate here, especially in prime locations, was as expensive as in Beijing, Shanghai, or Guangzhou. This apartment, with its panoramic views, open layout, and even a fireplace in a high-rise, spoke of wealth.
The fact that this man owned such a place meant he was far wealthier than Frank had imagined. Although not on the level of Joseph, who became a billionaire by making a deal with a demon, he was certainly well-off.
The man, however, paid no attention to Frank's amazement. He sat on the couch, drinking beer.
"You're a doctor?" Frank asked, holding a beer bottle and browsing through the house, noticing a cabinet filled with medical awards.
"Stephen Strange. That's your name? Funny, I know someone who uses the alias Steve," Frank said, looking at the names on the awards.
Jimmy used the alias Steve, and had he not strayed, he might have become a doctor too. It was an interesting coincidence.
Coincidences abounded; Officer Tony's name, for instance, matched Tony Stark's.
Whether it was a coincidence or a commonality, names like William II or III made such overlaps understandable.
"That's in the past. Now I'm just a cripple," Stephen said, watching his trembling hands.
"Crippled? What happened?" Frank asked, sitting opposite Stephen.
Perhaps due to the alcohol, Stephen, usually silent, began to share his story with Frank.
Stephen had been a brilliant neurosurgeon, winning numerous awards, publishing papers, and being a leading figure in his field. He was successful, with influential friends, a true man of achievement.
However, a car accident shattered all his achievements.
The accident severely injured his hands. Despite multiple surgeries restoring movement, they trembled uncontrollably.
For a surgeon, steady hands are more critical than for a pianist. Shaky hands can't wield a scalpel, especially in the precise field of neurosurgery, where stability is paramount. A single tremor could have disastrous consequences.
The accident destroyed Stephen's career and life.
Despite his efforts, his hands wouldn't fully recover. The failure to accept this reality led to his current despondency.
"Life rarely goes smoothly," Frank mused, taking a swig of beer. Life isn't always easy sailing.
"I'm a tragedy, a failure abandoned by God," Stephen muttered.
"Don't say that. You still have your credentials. Even if you can't perform surgery, you can teach or write papers. Shaky hands don't hinder typing; you could be a professor," Frank suggested.
"Shut up! I don't need your pity or advice!" Stephen snapped, angrily throwing his beer bottle.
Many friends had tried to console him, but their words only felt patronizing.
Stephen's pride made any comfort or advice feel condescending, as if they pitied him.
"Alright, I won't say any more," Frank said, dodging the bottle.
Reluctant to lose his newfound shelter in New York, Frank didn't want to provoke Stephen further.
Eventually, Stephen's ranting subsided, and he fell asleep on the couch.
"Finally, some peace. You're too old for this," Frank murmured, searching Stephen's pockets and finding his wallet.
Whistling at the cash inside, Frank took it out, leaving a couple of bills behind before returning the wallet.
"Hello, I'd like to order a pizza," Frank said, calling for delivery.
He explored Stephen's home, finding no valuables like watches or jewelry.
As a renowned doctor, Stephen earned a high salary but was a spendthrift, living paycheck to paycheck on luxury cars and brands without saving.
After the accident, he spent everything on surgeries to restore his hands, selling most valuables.
Compared to his past, Stephen was now financially strained, though he still had enough for daily expenses.
Frank covered Stephen with a blanket, made himself a coffee, and pulled out a black diary—Joseph's diary.
When arrested, Frank had the diary mixed with other books. It was returned to him as personal property upon release.
While Frank sold the other books when collecting recyclables, he kept Joseph's diary.
Joseph hadn't been one to keep a diary, but began the habit after making his deal with the demon.
The diary detailed how he made the deal and became a billionaire in a few short years.
Joseph once said he owed his success to Frank, though it was really 'Frank' he should thank.