Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
The heavy oak doors of the high-risk suite swung open before Miller could even post his officers at the entrance.
Eleanor Vance glided into the room, draped in an immaculate cream cashmere coat with pearls encircling her throat.
Behind her stood two private security guards with broad shoulders and concealed holsters beneath their blazers.
"Out," Eleanor commanded softly, flicking her gloved wrist toward the nurses and Detective Miller.
"Mrs. Vance, this is an active police investigation," Detective Miller said, standing firmly between Eleanor and my bed.
"This is a private medical facility funded primarily by my late husband's foundation," Eleanor replied without looking at him.
She fixed her cold, steel-gray eyes directly on me, ignoring Arthur completely.
"Detective, leave us for five minutes, or I will have the police commissioner revoke your precinct's special funding by noon."
Miller hesitated, his jaw clenching, but Arthur placed a firm hand on the detective's shoulder.
"Wait outside with your officers, Miller," Arthur said calmly. "I'll handle this."
Miller nodded reluctantly, signaling his men to step into the corridor, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Eleanor approached the foot of my bed, her eyes sweeping over the monitors with utter disinterest.
"You look remarkably resilient, Khloe," Eleanor remarked, her voice smooth as chilled glass. "Like a weed."
"Get out of my room," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring through my veins.
"Mother, you just posted bail for a woman who attempted to murder your grandchild," Arthur snapped, stepping between them.
"That child is a mistake," Eleanor said coldly, not even flinching at her eldest son's accusation.
"Marcus was destined to lead this family into national politics, not play house with an orphan painter."
"You arranged the hit on her car," Arthur challenged, holding up the financial folder. "I have the wire transfers, Mother."
Eleanor let out a delicate, mocking chuckle, pulling off her leather gloves finger by finger.
"You have transfers from a trust fund managed by four different board members, Arthur," she said smoothly.
"Any competent defense attorney could argue Isabella embezzled those funds without my knowledge."
"Isabella won't protect you," I spoke up, glaring at the woman who had tried to end my daughter's life.
"She will once she realizes that without me, she rots in a state penitentiary for thirty years," Eleanor replied.
She took a step closer, leaning over the footboard of the bed with a venomous smile.
"I am offering you a settlement, Khloe," Eleanor whispered. "Ten million dollars, clean and tax-free."
"For what?" I asked, my fingers digging into the hospital sheets.
"Sign the divorce papers, surrender full custody of the child to Marcus once it's born, and disappear."
"You're insane," I breathed, sickened to my very core.
"If you refuse," Eleanor said, her voice dropping into a chilling hiss, "accidents happen in hospitals every single day."
Suddenly, the heavy door slammed wide open, rebounding violently against the wall.
May you like
Marcus stood in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot, his shirt torn, and a look of absolute, unbridled savagery on his face.
"Touch my wife again, Mother," Marcus snarled, stepping into the room, "and I will bury you alive."
