Chapter 3 - The Price of Arrogance
"What did you just say?" Damon asked, his voice so quiet it sounded like steel sliding across ice.
Brenda Vance looked up at Damon. She recognized his face from the local business journals, but she underestimated the sheer level of danger standing in front of her.
"Mr. Westcott," Brenda said, adjusting her glasses. "This is a private administrative matter regarding an unpaid balance. The Vandermeer family holds three seats on our board of directors—"
Damon didn't let her finish. He looked past her through the small glass window of the ICU room. Inside, a frail seven-year-old boy lay in a large hospital bed, surrounded by beep-line monitors, his small face pale against the white sheets. Two orderlies were already unplugging his auxiliary oxygen pumps to prepare him for transport.
"Victor," Damon said calmly.
"Sir?"
"Remove them."
Victor didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, grabbing the two security guards by their collars and shoving them down the hallway with terrifying strength. Before Brenda could even scream, Leo stepped up, took the clipboard from her hands, snapped it in half, and dropped the pieces at her feet.
Damon pushed open the ICU doors and walked straight inside.
"Stop what you are doing," Damon commanded the orderlies.
The orderlies froze, looking at the towering man in the bespoke suit whose eyes promised violence if they moved another inch. They immediately stepped back from the bed.
Della rushed to Toby’s side, throwing her arms gently around her little brother, weeping softly. "Toby... Toby, I'm here. Sister is here."
The little boy slowly opened his eyes, fluttering his long eyelashes. "Della...? I tried to be brave..."
"I know, baby. I know," she sobbed, kissing his forehead.
Outside the room, Brenda was furiously dialing her phone. "I am calling the police! This is criminal trespass! The Vandermeers will have your head for this, Westcott!"
At that exact moment, the elevator doors at the end of the hall dinged open.
Dr. Harrison and a team of six top-tier medical specialists rushed out, pushing state-of-the-art mobile life-support equipment. Behind them walked a sharp-looking man in a grey suit carrying a leather briefcase—Nathaniel Vance, Damon’s chief legal counsel.
Brenda gasped. "Dr. Harrison? What is Northwestern’s chief of surgery doing here?"
Nathaniel walked straight up to Brenda and handed her a thick stack of legal documents.
"As of seven minutes ago," Nathaniel declared in a crisp, echoing voice, "Westcott Capital has acquired ninety-two percent of the outstanding debt obligations and real estate assets of St. Mercy Hospital. Mr. Damon Westcott is now the majority owner and chairman of the board."
Brenda’s jaw dropped. "What... what?!"
"Furthermore," Nathaniel continued relentlessly, "we have filed an emergency injunction against the Vandermeer Medical Foundation for gross medical negligence, breach of fiduciary duty, and attempted manslaughter regarding the forced transfer of a critically ill minor. The police are on their way, Mrs. Vance—not for Mr. Westcott, but to arrest you and your administrative staff."
Brenda turned as white as a sheet. Her phone slipped from her hand, crashing onto the linoleum floor.
Damon walked out of the ICU room, his face an impenetrable mask. He looked down at Brenda with absolute disgust.
"Tell Priscilla Vandermeer," Damon said softly, "that she brought a knife to a war she doesn't even know has started. By sunrise, her family won't have enough money left to buy a meal at a soup kitchen."
Damon turned back to Dr. Harrison. "How is the boy?"
Dr. Harrison looked at Toby’s monitors and then at Damon, his expression serious but hopeful. "We caught him just in time, Mr. Westcott. His vitals are stabilizing now that the oxygen has been restored. And... I have another piece of news."
Della looked up from Toby’s bed, her heart in her throat. "What news?"
Dr. Harrison smiled gently. "A donor heart matched Toby’s profile forty minutes ago in Minnesota. A private medical jet is already in the air, bringing it here. We can perform the transplant tonight."
Della covered her mouth, a loud, sob escaping her throat. She fell to her knees beside the bed, weeping not from grief, but from an overwhelming wave of relief and gratitude.
Sienna rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around Della, crying along with her.
Damon stood in the doorway, watching the woman who had saved his life six years ago finally find her peace. A soft, rare warmth flooded his chest.
He looked over at Victor.
"Victor," Damon said softly.
"Yes, Boss?"
May you like
"Initiate Plan Alpha against Vandermeer Enterprises. I want their stock shorted by fifty percent by the time the NYSE opens at nine AM. Shut down their shipping lanes in Gary, freeze their offshore accounts in Panama, and buy up every commercial mortgage they owe in the state of Illinois."
Victor smiled—a dark, dangerous grin. "Consider it done, Boss."
