Chapter 7 - The Final Dose
By Monday night, the tension inside the East Wing of the Kane estate had reached a breaking point.
Willa sat in her armchair beneath the dim bedside lamp, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Everett’s chest. Over the past six days, she had systematically reduced the sedative infusion down to zero, replacing the active drugs entirely with sterile saline while carefully faking the fluid levels on the discarded bags so Greg the night nurse wouldn't suspect a thing.
Everett was no longer paralyzed by chemistry. His nervous system was fully online.
He could swallow now. He could move his hands, though the muscles remained weak and trembling from eight months of forced atrophy. He could speak in a low, raspy whisper that sounded like dry leaves scraping across concrete—a voice he used sparingly, saving his strength for the moment that mattered.
"Tomorrow morning," Everett whispered, his head turning slightly on the pillow to look at her. His dark eyes burned with an icy, terrifying clarity. "Sterling is bringing the final transfer documents for the river terminals at ten o'clock. Whitfield will be here to sign off on my 'medical clearance' to validate the signature."
"I have the proof," Willa said quietly, pulling the black flash drive from her pocket and setting it on the bedside table. "I went to Whitfield’s office at St. Ambrose. I found the Swiss bank transfer from Apex Logistics, and I recorded his phone call confirming the conspiracy with Sterling."
Everett looked at the flash drive. A faint, grim smile touched the corners of his bruised lips.
"You have more courage than half my board of directors," he rasped, his voice gaining strength with every syllable. "When they walk into this room tomorrow... we aren't going to hide."
"If we move too fast, Whitfield will claim you're delirious from brain damage," Willa warned, leaning closer. "We need a trap that closes before they even realize the door is locked."
May you like
Everett reached out, his long, pale fingers wrapping weakly around her wrist. His skin was warm now. Real. Alive.
"Let them bring the lawyers," Everett whispered, his eyes flashing like dark steel. "Let them bring the cameras, the contracts, and the champagne. On Tuesday morning... the king comes home."
