Chapter 3 - His Mother’s Last MorningThey called the police.
Nicholas hated every second of it.
Iris knew because she watched him stand near the fireplace while officers moved through the mansion, photographing the service entrance, examining the envelope and reviewing corrupted security footage.
“What time did you last confirm that door was locked?”
An officer asked.
“Approximately eleven,” Iris replied.
Nicholas looked at her.
“You checked it?”
“I check every exterior door before I go upstairs.”
The officer nodded.
“Any former employees with access codes?”
Nicholas named three.
None had active authorization.
The service entrance showed no forced entry.
Whoever entered had either known a code or been let in.
At 4:30, the police left with the envelope.
At 4:40, Nicholas attempted to dismiss the entire thing as a tasteless threat.
At 4:41, Iris told him he was being an idiot.
By 5:00, neither had slept.
Nicholas stood in the kitchen drinking coffee despite Iris threatening to replace every bean in the mansion with decaffeinated grounds.
“You’re not my physician.”
“Considering your current physician may be trying to kill you, that argument has lost strength.”
Nicholas actually smiled.
A real one.
Brief but unmistakable.
Then the expression disappeared.
“We go to the hospital at seven.”
“We?”
He looked at Iris.
“You’re coming.”
“Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I was no longer your maid tonight.”
“It’s morning.”
She almost threw the dish towel at him.
Marcus drove them.
The billionaire’s usual black sedan seemed suddenly vulnerable despite armored glass and private security.
Iris sat beside Nicholas in the rear.
He had changed into a charcoal suit.
Armor restored.
Only she knew he had spent the night terrified to close his eyes.
At the hospital, they were escorted through a private entrance.
Dr. Samuel Hale met them in cardiology.
He was in his early forties, calm and direct.
The moment he saw Iris, he hesitated.
Nicholas noticed.
“She stays.”
Dr. Hale nodded.
The bottle was sent to the laboratory.
Additional blood tests were taken.
Nicholas underwent imaging.
Hours passed.
Iris remained.
At one point Nicholas fell asleep in a chair during an echocardiogram review.
Iris watched his head tilt toward his shoulder.
Dr. Hale watched her watching him.
“How long have you worked for Mr. Valmont?”
“Five years.”
“He listens to you?”
“Rarely.”
“That is more than he listens to us.”
She looked at the doctor.
“Is he really dying?”
Hale’s expression became careful.
“The damage is severe.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“We believed he had an aggressive degenerative cardiac condition. But several details have never fit.”
Iris’s stomach tightened.
“What details?”
“His deterioration accelerated too quickly. Some inflammatory markers appeared inconsistent. We requested his complete outside medication history several times.”
“And?”
“Dr. Mercer’s office reported nothing significant.”
Iris looked toward Nicholas.
The unmarked bottle.
“Could those pills do this?”
“We need the results.”
“But could they?”
Hale hesitated.
“Repeated exposure to certain substances can mimic or cause severe cardiac injury.”
Iris felt sick.
“Could it be reversed?”
“Some damage, perhaps. Not all.”
Nicholas opened his eyes.
“You two are terrible at whispering.”
Dr. Hale turned.
“How long were you awake?”
“Long enough.”
The physician pulled up a chair.
“Nicholas, I want you admitted.”
“No.”
“You have had at least two syncopal episodes.”
“One.”
“Iris?”
“Two.”
Nicholas glared at her.
She ignored him.
Hale almost smiled.
“Two. Your rhythm remains unstable.”
“I have a board meeting tomorrow.”
“You may have a cardiac arrest tonight.”
Nicholas’s expression did not change.
Iris’s did.
“Admit him.”
Nicholas turned.
“You don’t get a vote.”
“I stayed up all night making sure you kept breathing. I have earned at least a minority share.”
Dr. Hale coughed to hide amusement.
Nicholas surrendered.
By afternoon, he had a private suite.
At 3:12, laboratory results arrived.
Dr. Hale entered with two other specialists.
Nobody smiled.
Nicholas straightened.
“Say it.”
“The capsules contain a compound that does not match the supplement described in your medical file.”
Iris felt her fingers become cold.
“What compound?” Nicholas asked.
“We are confirming the precise formulation.”
“Is it toxic?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Nicholas’s face lost all expression.
“How long would someone need to take it?”
“We cannot know exactly.”
“Three months?”
Dr. Hale looked at him.
“That would be consistent with your deterioration.”
Iris sat down.
Nicholas did not.
He walked toward the window.
Chicago stretched beneath him.
His empire.
His city.
His life.
Someone had reduced all of it to pills in a bottle.
“Does Mercer know?”
Hale asked.
Nicholas turned.
“No one contacts him.”
“You need to involve law enforcement.”
“I will.”
“You should also discontinue anything that did not come directly from this hospital.”
Nicholas laughed coldly.
“I believe I’ve learned that lesson.”
Hale continued.
“There is something else.”
Nicholas looked at him.
“Your original diagnosis may be wrong.”
Iris’s heart jumped.
“How wrong?”
“The structural damage is real. But we are no longer convinced the underlying cause is terminal degeneration.”
Nicholas stared.
Dr. Hale spoke carefully.
“If the injury was toxin-induced and we stop the exposure, your prognosis changes significantly.”
“How significantly?”
“We need more tests.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened.
“Give me a number.”
“I can’t.”
“A year?”
“Possibly much longer.”
“Five?”
“Potentially.”
“Normal life expectancy?”
“I don’t know.”
The billionaire who controlled international negotiations simply stood there.
Speechless.
Iris pressed one hand over her mouth.
For weeks Nicholas had believed he had less than three months.
Now the future existed again.
Damaged.
Uncertain.
But possible.
Dr. Hale left them alone.
Nicholas remained near the window.
Iris approached.
“Nicholas.”
He did not turn.
“What does someone do,” he asked quietly, “when they already said goodbye to a life they might still have?”
Iris’s eyes burned.
“They say hello again.”
His shoulders moved with one shallow breath.
Then he looked at her.
Something raw appeared behind his eyes.
“I made the will.”
“You can change it.”
“I sold properties.”
“Buy worse ones. Rich people seem to enjoy that.”
“I recorded letters.”
“Delete them.”
“I told Evelyn exactly how I wanted my funeral.”
Iris swallowed.
“Cancel it.”
A laugh escaped him.
Half laugh.
Half something dangerously close to grief.
“I spent three weeks deciding what music people would hear while they buried me.”
“What did you choose?”
“Bach.”
“Depressing.”
“It was a funeral.”
“Choose something embarrassing. Make everyone uncomfortable.”
Nicholas laughed again.
This time longer.
Then suddenly he covered his face.
Iris had never seen him cry.
He did not make a sound.
That somehow made it worse.
She stepped forward.
Nicholas lowered his hands.
“I don’t know how to want to live again.”
Iris’s voice softened.
“You already do.”
“How?”
“You’re terrified.”
He stared at her.
“Dead men aren’t afraid of tomorrow.”
Something inside him gave way.
Nicholas pulled Iris into his arms.
There was no seduction in it.
No calculation.
He simply held her as though the world beneath his feet had changed direction.
Iris wrapped her arms around him.
His forehead rested against her hair.
“I asked you to stay because I didn’t want to die alone.”
“You’re not dying tonight.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Then I’m staying again.”
Nicholas closed his eyes.
That evening Conrad Valmont arrived.
No one had called him.
Nicholas was asleep when Iris heard the voice outside the suite.
“I am his uncle.”
Security refused entrance.
Iris opened the door.
Conrad stood in a tailored navy suit, silver hair perfect, expression appropriately concerned.
“Iris.”
He remembered her name.
That alone disturbed her.
“Mr. Valmont is resting.”
Conrad smiled gently.
“I mean Nicholas no harm.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“No.”
His eyes settled on hers.
“You didn’t.”
He looked through the doorway toward his sleeping nephew.
“Terrible business.”
“What business?”
“The diagnosis.”
Iris became still.
Nicholas had not publicly disclosed it.
According to him, not even his family knew.
Conrad continued.
“Such a tragedy at his age.”
Iris’s pulse accelerated.
“How did you know?”
For the first time, Conrad’s smile faltered.
Only slightly.
Then it returned.
“We’re family.”
“That didn’t answer me.”
Something colder entered his eyes.
“You are an employee, Iris.”
“Yes.”
“You would be wise to remember that.”
Nicholas’s voice came from behind her.
“She remembers perfectly.”
Iris turned.
Nicholas stood beside the bed.
Pale.
Weak.
But his expression was pure Valmont.
Conrad’s face changed.
“Nicholas.”
“How did you know I was dying?”
Conrad paused.
“Evelyn mentioned—”
“No.”
Nicholas’s voice became quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
“Evelyn signed a nondisclosure agreement personally drafted by me.”
His uncle stopped smiling.
Nicholas walked forward.
“And she did not know until yesterday.”
Conrad’s eyes shifted.
One second.
Toward the hallway.
Toward escape.
Nicholas saw it.
So did Iris.
“You knew before she did,” Nicholas said.
Conrad recovered.
“Your physician contacted the family.”
“Which physician?”
Silence.
Nicholas’s gaze sharpened.
“Say his name.”
Conrad’s answer came too slowly.
“Dr. Mercer.”
Iris felt Nicholas go rigid beside her.
The circle closed.
The pills.
The diagnosis.
The missing report.
Conrad knowing.
Nicholas’s mother.
Nicholas stepped into the doorway.
“Get out.”
“Nicholas, you’re emotional.”
“Security.”
Conrad’s pleasant mask vanished.
“You think the maid is going to save you?”
Nicholas did not blink.
“No.”
May you like
He glanced at Iris.
“She already did.”
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