Chapter 6 - THE FATHER'S ULTIMATUM
They took Preston to the donor wing immediately.
I sat alone in the sterile white hallway, watching the clock tick past midnight. The silence of the hospital was entirely different from the silence of the Waverly boardroom. Here, silence felt like praying.
I held the faded plastic hospital bracelet Preston had left on the chair beside me. I ran my thumb over the raised letters of his name. He had kept this for fifteen years.
Just as I closed my eyes, the elevator down the hall chimed.
I looked up, expecting a nurse.
Instead, Arthur Waverly stepped out.
He was alone. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore, and he looked incredibly tired, but his posture was as rigid and unyielding as ever. He walked down the corridor toward me, his cane tapping rhythmically against the linoleum.
I stood up, my protective instincts instantly flaring.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded, keeping my voice low so I wouldn't disturb the sleeping patients.
Arthur stopped a few feet away. He looked at the closed doors of the ICU where Grace was sleeping.
"I came to see my granddaughter," Arthur said softly.
"You don't have a granddaughter," I fired back, my anger entirely overriding any intimidation I used to feel around him. "You made sure of that when you forged Preston’s signature and threw a pregnant woman onto the street."
Arthur didn't flinch. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular object.
It was a photograph. An old, polaroid picture with curled edges.
He handed it to me.
Reluctantly, I took it. It was a picture of a young woman sitting in a hospital bed, holding a baby. The woman looked exhausted but radiant. Around her neck was a delicate silver locket.
"That is Preston’s mother, Diane," Arthur said, his voice rough. "And that baby is Preston. He was born premature. He needed three blood transfusions in his first week of life."
I stared at the photo. I recognized the woman. Preston had her eyes.
"Why are you showing me this?" I asked.
"Because Diane died three days after this picture was taken," Arthur said, the emotion bleeding through his cold facade for the briefest second. "An infection they didn't catch. I was building the company. I was in a boardroom in New York when she passed away alone in Seattle."
He leaned heavily on his cane.
"I promised myself I would build an empire so powerful, so impenetrable, that no one in my family would ever be vulnerable again. I turned my heart to stone to protect my children. And when you came along..."
Arthur looked at me, his eyes hard but filled with a strange, twisted sorrow.
"You made Preston soft. You made him care about poetry, and quiet weekends, and love. You made him vulnerable. I thought I was excising a weakness from his life. I let Eleanor handle the details because I didn't want to know how cruel it would be. I just wanted the weakness gone."
"Grace is not a weakness," I whispered, clutching the photograph. "She is his strength. And you almost killed her."
"I know," Arthur said.
He reached into his other pocket. He pulled out a heavy, legal document.
"Eleanor called an emergency board meeting tonight. She voted to strip Preston of his CEO title, citing mental instability and dereliction of duty. She has the board backing her."
My heart sank. "You let her do it?"
"No," Arthur said. "I own forty-nine percent of the voting shares. Eleanor convinced the remaining board members to side with her. She has fifty-one. She controls the company now."
He held the document out to me.
"This is the deed to Waverly Industries," Arthur said quietly. "If Preston signs it, he formally surrenders his claim. If he fights it, Eleanor will tie up his personal assets in litigation for years. He won't be able to access the money he needs for Grace’s long-term care."
I stared at the paper. It was a ransom note wrapped in legalese.
"You want him to sign away his birthright?" I asked.
Before Arthur could answer, the door to the donor wing opened.
Preston walked out. He had a bandage wrapped tightly around his inner elbow, and he looked pale, but his stride was purposeful.
He saw his father. He saw the document in my hands.
"Get away from my wife," Preston snarled, stepping between me and Arthur.
"Preston, listen to me," Arthur started.
Preston didn't listen. He took the document from my hand, glanced at the title, and let out a harsh, bitter laugh.
"Eleanor moves fast," Preston said.
"She has the board, son," Arthur said urgently. "Sign it. Walk away. If you fight her, she will freeze your accounts. You have a daughter to save."
Preston looked at his father. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold pocket watch.
May you like
It was Arthur’s watch. The one he had left on the boardroom table hours ago.
"You forgot this, Dad," Preston said, pressing the heavy gold timepiece into his father’s hand. "It's fitting. Because your time is up."
