Chapter 7 - Run for the Border
"Charging!" Marcus barked, slamming the selector knob on the automated defibrillator. The machine hummed with a rising, terrifying whine of building electrical energy.
*BZZZZZT.*
"Clear!" I shouted, dropping the paddles onto Anthony’s bare chest.
His body jerked off the table with a violent spasm. The line on the monitor jumped, flattened into an unbroken, horizontal green thread, and emitted a single, soul-crushing drone.
"No rhythm! Flatline!" I yelled. "Charging to three hundred! Clear!"
*CRACK.*
Another shock tore through his frame. His chest fell back against the vinyl padding. Still nothing. The flatline continued, an unyielding scream of clinical death.
"Come on, Anthony!" I yelled, dropping my palms onto the center of his sternum and beginning rhythmic, crushing chest compressions. One. Two. Three. Four. "You don't get to die on my watch! Breathe!"
Marcus stood beside me, his jaw clamped shut, watching the monitor like a man watching his own execution.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Suddenly, a massive, jagged spike tore across the green display.
*BEEP.*
Then another.
*BEEP.*
Anthony’s body convulsed, his mouth gasping for air as his eyelids fluttered open. His chest rose and fell in deep, shuddering heaves. The heart rate settled into a slow, steady seventy-two beats per minute. The Amiodarone had finally reset the electrical circuits of his poisoned heart.
I collapsed against the counter, my scrubs soaked with sweat, my hands trembling uncontrollably.
Anthony turned his head slowly. He looked at the cardiac monitor, then looked at me, a faint, ghost-like smile touching his lips. "That’s... three times now, Miss Carter."
"You're out of lives, Mr. Bennett," I gasped, wiping my forehead with the back of my bloody sleeve. "The next time you die, I'm letting you stay dead."
Before we could catch our breath, the overhead lights in the medical bay flickered and died. Emergency red auxiliary lamps hummed to life, casting long, bloody shadows across the stainless steel counters.
A sharp warning alarm chimed through the executive suite's security console.
Marcus moved instantly to the monitoring station. "We’ve got a breach."
"Julian’s men?" I asked, pushing myself up from the counter.
"Worse," Marcus said, zooming in on the subterranean parking cameras. "Federal agents. FBI tactical units, accompanied by corporate lawyers representing Bennett Global's executive committee. Someone filed an emergency petition with the Cook County circuit court claiming Anthony is dead and Marcus Reed has seized the corporate headquarters by force."
"Victoria," Anthony said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "She had a dead-man's trigger on her phone. If she didn't check in every two hours, the legal team was instructed to claim a hostile terrorist takeover."
"They're taking the service elevators," Marcus said, strapping on his combat vest and picking up his rifle. "They’ll be on the forty-eighth floor in ninety seconds. If the feds take Anthony into custody under an emergency medical hold, Julian's proxy takes over the shareholder vote at eight o'clock. The merger closes automatically without Anthony's physical signature."
"What do we do?" I asked.
Anthony pulled the IV line from his arm, swinging his legs over the edge of the examination table. His face was pale, but the lethargy was gone. The shock and the anti-arrhythmic had burned the last of the aconite out of his bloodstream, replaced by the pure, undiluted fury of a king reclaiming his throne.
"We don't run from the feds," Anthony said, standing up on his own two feet. He walked over to the closet in the corner of the clinic, pulling out a tailored charcoal-gray three-piece suit, an Egyptian cotton dress shirt, and a dark silk tie. "We don't hide in basements. Marcus, bring my brother and my ex-wife."
"Where are we going, sir?" Marcus asked.
Anthony buttoned his cuffs, adjusting his silk tie in the mirror with the absolute calm of a man preparing for a morning coffee.
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"To the seventieth floor," Anthony said, his reflection showing eyes as cold as outer space. "The board meeting starts in twenty minutes. It would be terribly impolite if the host didn't make an appearance."
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