Chapter 4 - THE GRANDMOTHER WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
I expected Vivian to call doctors.
Instead, she crossed the room, wrapped her arms around Ethan, and held him like a terrified mother finding a lost child.
Ethan stiffened.
Then slowly embraced her back.
It lasted only seconds.
When Vivian stepped away, her composure had returned.
“How long?”
“Since last night.”
“And nobody else knows?”
“Rebecca may suspect something,” I said.
Vivian’s expression sharpened.
“Nurse Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“She was hired by Jason.”
Ethan and I exchanged a glance.
Vivian noticed.
“You let her administer medication?”
“Not since last night,” I said.
For the first time, Vivian seemed to approve of me.
“Perhaps you’ll do better than I thought.”
I folded my arms.
“That sounds almost like a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
Ethan sighed.
“Grandmother.”
“What?”
“I’ve been awake less than a day. Try not to frighten my wife away.”
His wife.
The word felt different when he said it.
Vivian sat beside him.
“Jason is calling an emergency board meeting tomorrow morning. He intends to request temporary voting control over your shares based on medical incapacity.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“It is if three physicians sign the declaration.”
“Which doctors?”
“Two have already signed.”
“And the third?”
“Dr. Warren.”
Ethan cursed softly.
“Family neurologist?”
“Yes.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Everyone has a price or a pressure point.”
I remembered Marcus.
“Apparently.”
Vivian looked at me.
“You know something.”
I told her about Marcus Hale.
When I mentioned the safe-deposit box, Vivian stood.
“Where?”
“We don’t know.”
Ethan pointed toward the notebooks from his drawer.
“Marcus and I used a coding system for sensitive documents.”
I placed the notebooks on the bed.
For the next two hours, the three of us searched.
Most pages contained business notes.
Numbers.
Initials.
Meeting locations.
Then I found a line written eighteen months earlier.
MH—WINTER HOUSE—B17.
“What’s the winter house?”
Vivian answered.
“Ethan owns a cabin outside Lake Placid.”
Ethan shook his head.
“No. Marcus called the old Hudson branch the Winter House because the bank manager’s surname is Winters.”
Vivian stared at him.
“Box seventeen?”
“Probably.”
I reached for my coat.
“I’ll go.”
“No,” Ethan said immediately.
“You can barely stand.”
“Exactly why you’re not walking into a bank alone looking for evidence against a man who already tried to kill me.”
Vivian picked up her phone.
“I’ll send Charles.”
“Who’s Charles?”
“My driver.”
Ethan almost smiled.
“Former Secret Service.”
I blinked.
“Of course he is.”
Three hours later, Charles returned carrying a sealed envelope.
Marcus had named Ethan and Vivian as authorized contacts on the box.
Inside were financial records, photographs, flash drives, and copies of emails.
Ethan examined the first documents.
His face changed.
“Jason created consulting companies.”
Vivian read over his shoulder.
“Eight of them.”
“They billed Thornton Global for services never performed.”
“How much?”
“Forty-eight million.”
I sat across from them.
“Enough to destroy him?”
“Financially? Yes.”
“Criminally?”
Ethan picked up another document.
“Maybe.”
Then I found something that made my blood freeze.
A payment record.
The recipient was listed as R. Collins.
The date was two days before Ethan’s accident.
“Who is Collins?”
Ethan stared.
“My driver.”
The driver who died in the crash.
Vivian whispered, “How much?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
My stomach tightened.
“Jason paid your driver.”
A sound came from the hallway.
We all froze.
Vivian swept the documents into her handbag while I replaced the notebooks.
Ethan lay back.
His eyes closed.
Someone knocked.
“Come in,” Vivian called.
Rebecca entered.
“I need to check Mr. Thornton.”
“I’ll handle it,” Vivian said.
Rebecca hesitated.
“That’s my responsibility.”
“Not anymore.”
Silence.
“You’re dismissed.”
Rebecca’s face hardened.
“Mrs. Thornton—”
“Pack your things.”
“I was hired under Jason’s authority.”
“And this is my house.”
Rebecca stared at Ethan.
Then at me.
For one terrible second, I wondered whether she knew.
Finally she removed her badge.
“As you wish.”
She left.
Vivian exhaled.
“She’ll call him immediately.”
“Good,” Ethan said.
I stared.
“Good?”
“He’ll know something changed, but not what.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
Before I could argue, Ethan pushed the blankets aside.
“What are you doing?”
“Standing.”
“You are absolutely not standing.”
“Claire.”
“You’ve been lying in a bed for nine months.”
“And tomorrow Jason tries to steal my company.”
“Then we stop him with evidence.”
“I want to walk into that boardroom.”
“You can’t.”
His eyes met mine.
“Help me.”
Something about those words broke through my anger.
He was not ordering me.
He was asking.
I moved beside him.
“Slowly.”
His feet touched the floor.
His legs trembled immediately.
I wrapped one arm around his waist.
He was taller than I expected.
Even weakened, he seemed to fill the room.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Excellent attitude.”
He laughed softly.
Then he tried.
His knees buckled.
I caught him.
For one terrifying second, we nearly fell together.
Ethan gripped the bedrail.
“Again.”
“Ethan—”
“Again.”
The second attempt lasted three seconds.
The third lasted seven.
By the sixth, sweat covered his forehead.
“Enough.”
“One more.”
“No.”
He looked frustrated.
I stepped directly in front of him.
“You spent nine months trapped inside your own body. You do not get to destroy it because you’re angry.”
His jaw tightened.
“You always talk to billionaires like this?”
“I’ve only been married to one for a day.”
His expression softened.
Our faces were suddenly very close.
Too close.
Neither of us moved.
For one strange second, the room disappeared.
Then Vivian cleared her throat from the doorway.
“I realize this marriage was arranged for corporate reasons, but I would appreciate not witnessing its accelerated development.”
I jumped backward.
Ethan actually grinned.
Vivian handed him a folder.
“Dr. Warren has arrived.”
His smile vanished.
“Why?”
“He says Jason requested an immediate examination.”
“What?”
“He’s downstairs.”
Ethan returned to bed.
I pulled the blanket over him.
Vivian whispered, “He cannot know.”
Minutes later, Dr. Warren entered.
He was silver-haired and gentle-looking.
He examined Ethan’s pupils.
Reflexes.
Breathing.
Then he turned to us.
“There’s been no meaningful neurological improvement.”
I stared at him.
He was lying.
Ethan had deliberately flexed two fingers during the examination.
Dr. Warren had seen it.
I knew because his eyes had changed.
But he told us nothing.
Vivian’s voice was cold.
“Then you intend to sign Jason’s incompetency declaration?”
Dr. Warren looked toward the door.
Then reached into his coat and handed me a folded note.
“Mrs. Thornton, would you give me privacy with the patient?”
I opened the note.
One sentence.
THE MEDICATION IN HIS BLOOD SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM MONTHS AGO.
My hands began trembling.
May you like
Dr. Warren looked directly at me.
And added quietly, “Whoever has been treating Ethan does not want him to wake up.”
