Chapter 6 - ENTERING THE LION'S DEN
The town car pulled up beneath the gleaming glass canopy of Sterling Memorial Hospital’s emergency entrance.
Paparazzi and reporters had somehow caught wind of Richard Sterling’s critical condition,
clustered near the ambulance bay with cameras flashing.
Security guards formed a protective wedge around me as I stepped out of the vehicle,
my long wool coat billowing behind me.
I walked with measured,
unhurried strides,
ignoring the shouted questions from journalists hungry for corporate gossip.
The sliding glass doors parted automatically,
welcoming me into the brightly lit,
sterile sanctuary of the lobby.
Dr.
Marcus Keller was waiting by the elevators,
pacing anxiously with a tablet clutched tightly against his chest.
When he saw me approach,
visible relief washed over his pale,
exhausted face.
He hurried forward,
whispering updates about Richard’s deteriorating hemodynamics as we rode the private elevator up to the cardiovascular ICU.
The elevator doors slid open on the fourth floor,
revealing a tense,
hushed atmosphere charged with palpable anxiety.
Nurses moved swiftly between patient pods,
their faces grim and focused under the fluorescent lights.
As we rounded the corner toward the family waiting suites,
I spotted Preston Sterling standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He looked a wreck,
his shirt collar unbuttoned,
his hair disheveled,
and dark circles shadowing his bloodshot eyes.
When our eyes locked across the polished corridor,
Preston froze mid-stride,
staring at me as if I were a ghost.
He started walking toward me with a desperate,
hopeful expression,
his lips parting to speak my name.
Before he could take three steps,
two burly hospital security guards materialized between us,
blocking his path firmly.
Preston stumbled to a halt,
staring at the guards in utter disbelief before turning his furious gaze back to me.
He shouted my name,
demanding to know what the hell was going on and why he was being barred from his own father.
I did not slow my pace,
nor did I spare him more than a fleeting,
frigid glance.
I walked past him as if he were a piece of stray furniture,
my heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor.
Behind me,
Preston’s voice cracked with frantic rage as security firmly pushed him back toward the waiting room.
Marcus Keller cleared his throat nervously,
glancing sideways at me as we entered the secure sterile core of the ICU.
I told Marcus to dispense with the apologies and lead me straight to patient room 402.
It was time to examine Richard Sterling and see just how much damage time had wrought upon his failing body.
The door to room 402 slid open quietly,
admitting us into a symphony of rhythmic monitors and mechanical ventilators.
May you like
There lay the patriarch of the Sterling empire,
tethered to a dozen tubes and fighting desperately for every breath.
