Chapter 5 - The Counter-AttackThe next morning, Dr. Alan Whitfield arrived precisely at 7:00 AM, as he did every day.
He walked into the master suite with his leather medical bag swinging casually at his side. Willa was sitting in the armchair, reading a worn paperback novel, her hair tied back in a messy bun.
"Good morning, Mrs. Kane," Whitfield said smoothly, not bothering to look at her as he walked straight to the IV pole. "Any unusual movements or disruptions last night?"
"None," Willa replied flatly, keeping her eyes fixed on her book. "He slept like a log. Just like every other night."
Whitfield smiled, satisfied. He reached into his leather case and pulled out a fresh, unlabeled glass vial containing a clear, viscous liquid. He unclipped the empty vial from the infusion line and prepared to swap them out.
"Good. The nervous system is stabilizing," Whitfield lied smoothly, his fingers steady as he connected the new tube.
He had no idea that at 4:30 AM, while the entire estate was fast asleep, Willa had carefully extracted ninety percent of the Aethel-9 from the previous bag using an emergency syringe she had smuggled from an old medical kit, replacing it with sterile saline and a measured dose of cardiac stimulants.
Everett’s body was already beginning to purge the poison.
"By the way," Whitfield added, turning around to face Willa as he packed his case. "Sterling mentioned you might need an advance on your monthly allowance for your mother's care facility. He asked me to have you sign some paperwork."
He pulled a folded document from his briefcase and laid it on the bedside table, alongside a golden fountain pen.
Willa stood up slowly and walked over to the table. She looked down at the paper. It wasn't an allowance request. It was a legal relinquishment form—signing over all proxy voting rights of Everett Kane’s estate directly to Sterling Kane.
If she signed this, Sterling would legally control everything, and Everett would become a permanent non-entity, waiting for a convenient final cardiac arrest.
"I need to read it thoroughly," Willa said, her voice ice-cold.
Whitfield’s smile curdled into a scowl. "Sterling doesn't like delays, Mrs. Kane. Sign it now, or your mother’s discharge papers go through by noon."
Willa picked up the golden fountain pen. Her hand didn't shake. She hovered the tip of the nib over the signature line.
"You know, Dr. Whitfield," Willa said softly, not looking up. "St. Ambrose Medical Center taught me a lot about signatures."
Whitfield’s brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"They taught me how easily electronic signatures can be forged," Willa whispered, lifting her gaze to meet his. "And they taught me how dangerous it is when a doctor prescribes the wrong medicine to the wrong patient."
Whitfield’s face drained of color. He took a sharp step forward. "You watch your tongue—"
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
May you like
Suddenly, the heart monitor beside the bed erupted into a rapid, frantic rhythm.
Everett Kane’s back arched violently off the mattress. His eyes flew wide open, fixing Dr. Whitfield in a terrifying, predatory glare.
