"Please wait. Ms. Harding sprained her ankle, and Mr. Gilbert is furious. He ordered all staff to go treat her."
I froze. My mind went blank.
Thomas knew. He knew my mother's surgery was scheduled for today.
He did this on purpose.
Behind me, the operating room doors stood wide open. My mother's agonized moans carried out into the hall.
I shot to my feet and ran inside.
She was lying there, her face drained of all color.
I grabbed her hand.
"Mom!"
On the monitor beside her, every vital sign was plummeting.
Panic seized me.
"Mom! Are you okay? Doctor! Nurse! Is anyone there?!"
I slammed the call button over and over.
No one answered.
My mother's face had gone purple. The oxygen mask fogged in rapid, shallow bursts, and her hands were clawing at the air.
My knees buckled. I stumbled out of the operating room.
The first person I saw in a white coat, I lunged at them.
"Please, save my mother!"
"She's alone on the table with no one treating her, please..."
But one doctor after another waved me off.
Their faces were tight with discomfort.
"Mr. Gilbert gave the order. Everyone has to go attend to Ms. Harding."
Then a shrill, continuous tone cut through the air from inside the operating room.
My breath stopped. I forced myself back inside.
The line on the heart monitor had gone flat.
Her hand was stiffening in mine. No new fog appeared in the oxygen mask.
Her eyes were wide open. A single tear sat at the corner of one.
I had no strength left. My hands shook as I closed her eyes.
My brain nearly shut down.
On autopilot, I texted my assistant.
I need all the hospital surveillance footage from this morning.
Then I opened the voice recorder on my phone.
I forced myself to follow the crowd toward that room.
Tracey was sitting up in bed, surrounded by a swarm of doctors.
And Thomas was kneeling beside her, cradling her foot, rubbing ointment onto her ankle.
What a joke.
The great Thomas Gilbert, who couldn't even be bothered to hold his own daughter once.
Now those hands, the ones that commanded empires, were cradling Tracey Harding's foot.
He saw me and the corner of his mouth curled up.
"Vivienne. This is what happens when you go against me."
"Don't worry. Once Tracey's ankle heals, I'll send the lead surgeon over."
The doctor beside him jumped in, practically falling over himself to please.
"Mr. Gilbert, of course Ms. Harding's ankle takes priority. Everything else can wait."
My pupils contracted.