Chapter 5
The sterile white lights of St. Jude Memorial’s private VIP wing felt a million miles away from the crystal chandeliers of L’Aura. Valeria hurried down the linoleum corridor, her white blazer contrasting sharply against the clinical gloom, with Julian right on her heels. The heavy doors of Trauma Bay Three pushed open, and a tired-looking physician in green scrubs stepped out, pulling down his surgical mask.
“Mr. Sterling? Valeria?” the doctor asked, recognizing them immediately from previous consultations regarding David’s chronic stress management.
“Is he conscious?” Julian demanded, his voice tight with controlled panic, his grey hair slightly disheveled from the frantic car ride across town.
“He’s awake, but his blood pressure crashed dangerously low about twenty minutes after he received a certified letter at the estate,” the doctor explained, checking a digital tablet in his hand. “It appears to be a severe stress-induced syncopal episode, compounded by acute exhaustion and severe dehydration. He hasn't slept properly in days.”
Valeria exhaled sharply, pushing past the doctor into the small, sterile room. David was propped up on a motorized hospital bed, looking ghostly pale against the stiff white sheets. His usually vibrant blonde hair was matted with sweat, and an IV drip was taped securely to the back of his right hand. The dark blazer he had worn earlier that week was draped haphazardly over a plastic chair in the corner.
David turned his head slowly as the door clicked shut. His eyes, bloodshot and hollow, locked onto his sister.
“Did… did you see her?” David’s voice was a dry raspy whisper, barely audible over the hum of the heart monitor.
“We saw her,” Valeria said softly, walking over to the bedside and pulling up a hard plastic chair. She reached out, her fingers warm as she wrapped them around his cold, trembling hand. “She tried to pull a stunt at the restaurant downtown, trying to trap Marcus Vance and pin her financial ruin on Dad and me. It didn’t go the way she planned.”
David let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh that hitched in his chest into a cough. “She always could turn a catastrophe into a theater performance. I was such an idiot, Val. I knew she was bleeding the accounts dry six months before she filed for divorce. I just… I kept signing the checks because I was terrified of being the bad guy who ruined our marriage.”
Julian entered the room quietly, standing at the foot of the bed. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or toxic positivity. He looked at his younger son with a gaze forged from decades of business negotiations and hard-won wisdom.
“You weren't trying to be the good guy, David,” Julian said quietly, his voice carrying an undeniable weight of truth. “You were avoiding the discomfort of a hard truth. You bought your peace of mind on credit, and today the bill finally came due.”
David closed his eyes, a single tear escaping down his hollow cheek. The emotional dam he had built around himself over the last three days finally cracked.
Before Valeria could offer comforting words, the door swung open again with a sharp click, and a tall, imposing woman in a sharp navy blue pantsuit stepped into the room, holding a thick manila folder stamped with the seal of the District Attorney’s office.
May you like
“Mr. David Sterling?” the woman asked, scanning the room with sharp, intelligent eyes. “I’m Special Prosecutor Vance—no relation to Marcus. I need to speak with you immediately regarding a coded flash drive Elena left in your master safe before she fled the restaurant.”
***
