Chapter 6 - The Recovery Room
An hour later, I was sitting in a private suite at the Whitaker Medical Center, wrapped in a warm fleece blanket, drinking hot herbal tea.
Dr. Marcus Vance—who was actually Graham’s estranged cousin and a brilliant neurosurgeon who had secretly aligned with my family—was examining my lap.
“The burns are second-degree, Eleanor,” Marcus said gently, applying a cooling medical salve to my skin. “They will heal completely within two weeks without scarring. But the poison in your system has been entirely neutralized by the antitoxin treatments we finished last month.”
Harrison sat in a leather armchair beside my bed, reviewing the evening’s media coverage on his tablet.
“The news is everywhere,” Harrison said, showing me the screen. The headlines were exploding across major financial and news networks:
BILLIONAIRE WEDDING TURNS INTO FEDERAL RAID: ELEANOR WHITAKER EXPOSES POISONING CONSPIRACY. ARDELL REAL ESTATE EMPIRE COLLAPSES OVERNIGHT AS LOAN DEFAULTS.
I took a slow sip of my tea, feeling the warmth spread through my chest.
“How is Graham’s legal defense team reacting?” I asked.
“They’re abandoning him,” Harrison chuckled softly. “Once the SEC released the bank records showing he embezzled forty million dollars from your personal trust to fund Savannah’s luxury lifestyle, no top-tier firm would touch him. He’s being represented by a public defender.”
A soft knock came at the door.
A young woman with short brown hair and a crisp suit walked in, carrying a thick binder. It was Clara, my personal intelligence strategist who had spent the last year inside the Ardell corporate network.
“Mrs. Whitaker,” Clara said respectfully. “The bankruptcy court has officially seized all physical properties owned by Ardell Holdings, including the St. Aurelia Hotel where the wedding was held tonight.”
May you like
I smiled softly. “Place a bid on the St. Aurelia, Clara. I want to buy the hotel, tear down the ballroom, and turn it into a state-of-the-art rehabilitation center for stroke survivors.”
Clara beamed. “Right away, ma'am.”
