Chapter 6 - The Flatline
The piercing alarm of the heart monitor sliced through the roar of the cascading water overhead. Evelyn lunged for the emergency crash cart, her hands slipping against the wet metal as she dragged it toward the bed. "Clara! Can you hear me?" she cried, ripping open the defibrillator pads and slapping them against Clara’s wet chest.
Her mind raced with panic. If Clara died here, Vance and Helena would win. The truth would be buried alongside an innocent young woman and her unborn child. Evelyn pressed the charge button, feeling the familiar hum of electricity build before shouting, "Clear!" and delivering the shock.
Clara’s body arched slightly against the mattress, the dark hair clinging to her damp face. For a agonizing second, the monitor remained a flat, unbroken green line. Evelyn pushed harder, performing rapid chest compressions, counting aloud through her ragged breaths. "Come on, stay with me. Don't let them win."
On the third compression, the monitor stuttered. A faint, irregular beep broke the silence, followed by another. Clara drew in a sharp, rattling gasp of air, her eyes flying open in sheer terror as she clawed at Evelyn’s uniform sleeve.
"I'm here, Clara. You're safe," Evelyn panted, brushing the wet strands of hair from Clara’s face. "Vance is gone, but we need to get you out of this hospital immediately. They won't stop trying to silence you."
Clara shook her head, her lips trembling so hard she could barely form words. "The... the document in my purse," she whispered, her voice like sandpaper. "It's not just a divorce paper. It's... it's Arthur’s true will. The one Helena hid the day he died."
Evelyn froze. "Arthur’s real will? Where is it?"
"In the pocket of my coat... back at the mansion," Clara gasped, clutching her stomach as a fresh wave of pain hit her. "Julian... your husband doesn't know. His father left the entire estate to... to an orphan charity, cutting Helena and Julian out completely unless Julian married someone of his own choosing—someone unblemished by the Vanderbilt bloodline."
The pieces fell into place with staggering clarity. Helena hadn't just been acting out of cruel elitism; she was protecting her entire livelihood. If that will surfaced, the Vanderbilt empire would vanish overnight.
Before Evelyn could reply, the heavy hospital room door swung open again. It wasn't security or the medical staff. A figure stood in the doorway, framed by the dim hallway lights, holding a long-barreled hunting rifle with cold, practiced ease. It was Helena Vanderbilt herself, her black dress soaked and ruined, her dark eyes burning with absolute madness.
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"Well, well," Helena sneered, stepping into the room with the rifle leveled straight at Evelyn’s chest. "It seems cockroaches are remarkably difficult to exterminate."
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