Chapter 5 - The Dead Man's Ledger"Everett," I choked out, my hands trembling as I hovered over him, unsure whether to press the emergency call button or cover his mouth to keep him quiet. "You're... you're awake."
He swallowed hard, his throat working with agonizing effort. His dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that burned right through my soul. He didn't look like a helpless patient; he looked like a predator waking up in a den of hyenas.
"Don't... call... them," he whispered, each word a jagged piece of glass. His fingers gripped my wrist tighter. "Traitors... everywhere. Gable... Vance... Whitfield... all of them."
"I know," I whispered back, leaning in close so my lips brushed his ear. "They want to liquidate everything. Vance tried to make me sign asset transfer papers this morning. Whitfield is poisoning your IV with synthetic neurotoxins to keep you paralyzed."
A dark, lethal flash crossed Everett’s eyes. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. If looks could kill, Dr. Alan Whitfield would have burst into flames right there on the spot.
"Safe... box," Everett breathed, his chest heaving with the exertion. His gaze drifted toward the heavy, antique oil painting of a stormy seascape hanging on the opposite wall. "Behind... the... K... frame."
"A safe?" I asked, my heart pounding.
He gave a microscopic nod, his eyelids drooping heavily as the immense effort drained the last dregs of his adrenaline. "Keys... in... my... desk... bottom... drawer... false... bottom."
"Rest," I murmured, gently stroking the back of his hand. "Save your strength, Everett. I'll find it."
As if on cue, the heavy oak doors suddenly jangled.
"Quick!" I hissed, scrambling back to my feet and smoothing down my skirt just as Mrs. Gable pushed the door open, followed by a burly private security guard carrying a fresh oxygen tank.
Mrs. Gable’s sharp eyes darted suspiciously around the room, landing instantly on my flushed face and trembling hands.
"Is everything all right, Mrs. Kane?" she asked, her voice laced with distrust. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
"Just feeling the weight of the room, Mrs. Gable," I replied, forcing my voice to remain even and cold. "Being locked in here all day with a man who can't speak tends to play tricks on the mind."
Mrs. Gable grunted, signaling the guard to set the tank down. As she turned to leave, her gaze swept across the floor, stopping near the edge of the bed.
May you like
My stomach dropped straight into my shoes.
There, lying near the nightstand, was one of the torn halves of the asset transfer papers Vance had given me.
