Chapter 7 - The Bethesda Clinic
The sun was just rising over the snow-capped Swiss Alps when our taxi turned off the main highway onto a quiet, tree-lined road leading toward the Bethesda Clinic.
The building looked more like a grand private estate than a hospital. White stone, dark slate roofs, and massive glass windows looking out over a frozen, crystal-clear lake. The air outside was so sharp and clean it burned my throat when I stepped out of the car.
Arthur Vance, Richard’s lawyer, was waiting for us near the main entrance. He was an elderly man with immaculate silver hair, wearing a dark tweed coat and holding a leather briefcase.
"Mrs. Miller," Arthur Vance said, stepping forward and taking my hand with deep respect. "I am Arthur Vance. It is an honor to finally meet the woman Richard talked about every single day for five years."
"How is he, Mr. Vance?" I asked, ignoring the crisp mountain scenery. "Is he awake?"
Arthur Vance’s face darkened slightly. He gestured for us to follow him through the heavy glass doors into the warm, quiet interior of the clinic.
"He suffered a major cardiac event three days ago," Vance explained as we walked down a carpeted hallway lined with soft lighting and medical monitors. "The strain of monitoring the legal moves in Chicago, combined with years of severe physical exhaustion, has taken a heavy toll. The doctors stabilized him using the emergency funds you wired yesterday, but... he is very weak, Eleanor. Very weak."
He stopped outside Room 304.
"He doesn't know you are in Switzerland," Vance added softly, looking at David and Sarah. "He thinks you are still in Chicago, hating him."
My throat tightened. I turned to my children. Sarah was biting her lip, trying not to cry, while David took a deep, steadying breath.
"You two go in first," I said quietly.
David looked at me, surprised. "Mom... you should go first."
"No," I said, my voice steady. "He spent five years thinking his children despised him. He needs to see you first."
David nodded, his eyes shining with tears. He pushed open the heavy wooden door of Room 304 and stepped inside, with Sarah right behind him.
I stood in the quiet hallway, leaning against the white wall, listening through the slightly open door.
For a few seconds, there was absolute silence. Then, I heard a sharp, gasping breath—a fragile, broken sound that could only belong to one man.
"David...? Sarah...?" Richard’s voice was thin, raspy, barely a whisper. "What... what are you doing here? How did you...?"
"Dad," David sobbed, his voice breaking completely. "Dad, we know. We know everything."
"Oh, Dad," Sarah cried, rushing to the bedside. "We’re so sorry. We’re so, so sorry we didn't know."
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"No... no, no," Richard rasped, panic creeping into his weak voice. "You shouldn't be here... it's not safe... your mother... is she—?"
I reached for the brass handle, pushed the door open, and stepped into the room.
