Chapter 5 - Poison In The Boardroom: When The Heart Attack Wasn't An Accident
By Saturday morning, my life had completely transformed.
I moved what little possessions I owned—a single suitcase of clothes, a framed photograph of my mother, and my old nursing textbooks—into the sprawling guest suite of the Meridian penthouse. The bathroom was larger than my entire Pilsen apartment, fitted with heated Italian marble and a soaking tub. But I didn't have time to indulge in luxury.
Lucas’s recovery was precarious.
His cracked fifth and sixth ribs caused sharp, agonizing pain with every breath, and his myocardium was severely inflamed from the electrical shocks and the lingering effects of the synthetic peptide. I set up a mobile medical station in the library: a digital 12-lead ECG monitor, emergency resuscitation equipment, and a locked refrigeration unit for his medications.
At 8:30 AM, while I was carefully wrapping Lucas’s chest with a supportive compression binder, the penthouse doors chimed aggressively.
Marcus, the security chief, appeared at the library door. “Mr. Bennett, your family has breached the private lobby. Julian, your stepmother Evelyn, and two members of the executive board are in the elevator. They have legal counsel with them.”
Lucas’s jaw hardened. He winced as I secured the Velcro strap on his binder, but he didn't make a sound.
“Hand me my shirt, Bailey,” Lucas ordered calmly.
“You shouldn't be sitting up for long meetings, Lucas,” I warned, checking his pulse oximeter. “Your resting heart rate is already elevated at ninety-two. Any sudden spike in cortisol could trigger another arrhythmia.”
“If I don't face them today, Julian will file an emergency petition in probate court on Monday morning to seize executive control,” Lucas replied, slipping his arms into a pristine white tailored shirt. “Help me button this. And stay by my side. If I show any weakness, they will tear this company apart.”
I quickly buttoned his shirt and helped him into a soft charcoal blazer that hid the bulk of the medical binder. I slipped a compact emergency vial of sublingual nitroglycerin and a digital pulse reader into my jacket pocket.
A moment later, Julian Bennett stormed into the grand living room, flanked by Evelyn Bennett and two corporate attorneys carrying heavy leather briefcases.
Julian stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Lucas sitting upright on the sofa, calmly sipping an espresso. But when Julian’s eyes shifted and landed on me standing right beside Lucas with a medical tablet in hand, his face contorted in fury.
“What is this?” Julian sneered, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Lucas, have you lost your mind? Why is the night janitor standing in your living room?”
Evelyn gasped dramatically, clutching her pearls. “Lucas, darling! You look like a ghost! You should be in an intensive care facility, not playing games with the domestic staff. Julian and I came here out of love to relieve you of the burden of the quarterly shareholder summit.”
“Save your rehearsed concern, Evelyn,” Lucas said, his voice cold and sharp as a diamond. “And Julian, Miss Vance is no longer a cleaner. She is my private medical supervisor. She possesses more clinical competence in her little finger than the entire board of directors combined.”
Julian stepped forward, slamming a leather portfolio onto the glass coffee table.
“You suffered a catastrophic cardiac arrest in an elevator, Lucas! The entire financial district is whispering about your health. Meridian stock dipped four percent yesterday on rumors of your incapacity. Under Section 14 of the corporate bylaws, the board has the right to demand a certified fitness-for-duty evaluation from an independent medical board.”
“Section 14 applies only if I am unable to preside over executive functions for more than seven consecutive business days,” Lucas replied smoothly, not flinching. “As you can see, I am sitting in my home, fully lucid, and actively managing company affairs. I will be attending the annual Meridian Charity Gala at the Drake Hotel next Friday evening in person.”
Julian and Evelyn exchanged a quick, tense glance.
“The Drake Gala?” Julian laughed nervously. “You can barely breathe, Lucas! You expect to walk across a ballroom in front of five hundred investors and the mayor of Chicago?”
“I will be there,” Lucas said, his eyes narrowing into predatory slits. “And I expect you to have the Q3 acquisition reports on my desk by Monday morning at eight sharp, Julian. Now get out of my home before Marcus removes you for trespassing.”
Julian glared at his brother, then turned his venomous gaze toward me. “You think you’ve hit the jackpot, don't you, little girl? Playing nurse to a dying king? Be very careful whose side you choose in this tower. People who get in the way of Bennett family business have a nasty habit of meeting unfortunate accidents.”
“Is that a threat, Julian?” Lucas growled, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“It’s a friendly corporate observation,” Julian spat. He spun on his heel and stormed out, followed by Evelyn and the attorneys.
As soon as the elevator doors clicked shut, Lucas slumped back against the sofa cushions, his face turning an alarming shade of gray. A harsh gasp tore from his lips, and he clutched his left side.
“Lucas!” I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing two fingers to his neck while sliding the pulse oximeter onto his finger.
His heart was racing at 145 beats per minute.
“Breathe,” I instructed firmly, placing a steady hand flat against his chest. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Look at me, Lucas. Match my breathing.”
He forced his stormy eyes to focus on mine. His chest heaved against my palm, his breathing ragged and shallow.
“Deep breath... slow... let it out,” I murmured, keeping my voice low, rhythmic, and calm. “You held the line. They’re gone. You’re safe.”
Slowly, second by second, his pulse began to decelerate. The rigid tension in his broad shoulders melted slightly, and his heavy hand came up, wrapping around my wrist where it rested over his racing heart.
His grip was warm, solid, and unexpectedly gentle.
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“Thank you, Bailey,” he whispered, his eyes searching mine with a vulnerability he had never shown to anyone in his glittering, ruthless world.
“Don't thank me yet,” I replied softly, my heart fluttering for reasons that had nothing to do with medicine. “We have six days to get you ready for the Drake Hotel. And someone in that room is going to try to finish what they started.”
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