Chapter 2: The Silent Ward
St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital smelled of antiseptic and lingering dread. Arthur lay hooked up to a tangle of monitors in Room 412, the rhythmic beep of the heart rate tracker offering a fragile reassurance of life.
Derek sat by the window, watching night fall over Chicago’s skyline. A court-ordered protective detail stood outside the door—a precaution Derek had begged a family friend judge to sign within hours of the cathedral incident.
Dr. Angela Miller entered, adjusting her spectacles as she studied the latest chart. “His toxicology report came back clean on standard narcotics, Derek,” she said quietly, keeping her voice low. “However, we found trace amounts of tetrodotoxin—a paralytic agent that mimics clinical death.”
Derek felt cold ice settle in his stomach. “Someone poisoned him to make him look dead.”
“Precisely,” Angela nodded. “Whoever did this wanted him buried six feet under while still fully conscious. Had you opened that lid thirty minutes later at the cemetery...”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence.
Arthur stirred, his dry lips parting slightly. Derek hurried over, gently clasping his father’s weathered hand. “I’m here, Dad.”
“Derek...” Arthur breathed, blinking away the hospital glare. “Your mother’s foundation. Marcus liquidated the accounts this morning. He wants to sell the low-income clinic to developers.”
Derek stared at his father. His late mother had dedicated her life to the Westside Free Clinic, ensuring the poor received dignified medical care. Arthur had spent twenty years protecting it.
“Why would Marcus do this?” Derek whispered.
May you like
Arthur’s eyes turned sorrowful. “Greed turns kin into strangers, son. But greed cannot survive the truth.”
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