132 The Billion-Dollar Retribution: Unraveling the Corporate Betrayal, Outsmarting the Traitorous Counsel, and Striking Back from the Hospital Bed

"Mr. and Mrs. Harding," Marisol said politely, stepping between my father and the bed with quiet authority. "Visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago. Patient Miranda needs absolute rest."

"Shut up!" my mother shrieked, turning her fury onto the nurse. "This is a family matter! Do you know who we are? Our daughter—"

"Your former financial benefactor," I corrected loudly, interrupting her. "Marisol, please have security escort them out of the building. My parents’ parking passes and visitor clearances have been permanently revoked."

My father’s eyes bulged. "You revoked our parking passes? You're treating us like criminals?!"

"Criminals don't usually get estate lawyers at midnight, Dad," I replied, leaning back against my pillows and closing my eyes. "They just get abandoned."

"Miranda, you listen to me right now!" my mother screamed as two security guards suddenly appeared in the doorway, responding to Marisol’s discreet call button. "If you do this, if you actually cut off the trust, Lauren's mortgage is due on the first of the month! Her baby shower is in three weeks! How is she supposed to pay for—"

"That sounds like a problem for Lauren and her wonderful husband," I said, opening my eyes and looking at them with absolute, bone-deep exhaustion. "Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye, Dad."

The security guards stepped forward, politely but firmly placing their hands on my parents' arms.

"Sir, ma'am, you need to leave the floor now," the lead guard instructed.

"Get your hands off me! We are her parents!" my father bellowed, thrashing his arm away as they were physically backed out through the doorway. My mother’s shrill protests echoed down the corridor long after the door slid shut and locked automatically.

When the room finally fell quiet again, Marisol let out a long breath, placing her clipboard down on the counter.

"Are you alright, Miranda?" she asked softly, her eyes filled with deep sympathy.

"I've never been more clear-headed in my life," I whispered, staring up at the ceiling.

Little did I know, my parents hadn't gone home. Instead, they had retreated straight to the lobby, where my mother immediately whipped out her phone and dialed the one person she thought could fix this disaster: my sister, Lauren.