Chapter 4 - The Signature
The heart monitor beside the bed began a rapid, irregular rhythm—*beep-beep-beep-beep*—climbing past 110 beats per minute.
I didn't wait for permission. I stepped around Callum, planted my chart directly over Malcolm’s notarized documents, and shoved the portfolio back against the lawyer's chest.
“Mr. Ror,” I said, my voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. “Your brother’s myocardial tissue is currently healing from a major trauma. If you induce a hypertensive crisis in this room right now, the only thing you’ll be inheriting is an inquest by the state medical board and a manslaughter investigation.”
Malcolm glared down at me with pure, unadulterated venom. “You are a glorified nurse's aide. You have no jurisdiction over corporate trusts.”
“I have complete jurisdiction over who enters this patient’s room,” I shot back, not yielding an inch. “And right now, your presence is registering as a clinical hazard. Vance! Miller!”
The two heavy-set men outside the door didn't wait for Callum’s nod. They stepped across the threshold instantly, filling the doorway with terrifying physical mass.
Malcolm’s lawyers instinctively took a step back.
Malcolm’s face flushed a mottled, furious purple. He pointed a shaking finger at Callum. “You’re letting an insubordinate employee run this family into the ground! When I take control of the board, she’s the very first person I fire—and the hospital will never hire her again!”
Callum looked at his uncle not with anger, but with a profound, terrifying pity.
“You won't take control of the board, Malcolm,” Callum said quietly. “Because as of four minutes ago, my father executed a formal proxy transfer assigning all his voting shares to me.”
Malcolm froze. His jaw dropped. “That’s... that’s impossible. He hasn't signed anything!”
Callum reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a crisp, single sheet of paper stamped with a formal legal seal and signed in shaky, deliberate ink by Patrick Ror less than an hour ago, and held it up for his uncle to see.
“It was witnessed by Dr. Park,” Callum said smoothly. “And notarized by a court officer downstairs. The paperwork is ironclad.”
Malcolm stared at the paper as if it were a venomous snake. All the color drained from his face, leaving him looking hollow and defeated. He opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Callum’s eyes—the absolute, cold promise of total destruction—silenced him completely.
“Get out,” Callum whispered.
Malcolm turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, his lawyers scrambling desperately to keep pace behind him.
The heavy door clicked shut.
The room fell into a profound, breathless silence. The heart monitor slowly began to descend, stabilizing back down to a steady, healthy rhythm.
Patrick let out a long, shuddering sigh, sinking back against his pillows. He looked up at his son, then turned his gaze toward me.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side, Ms. Hail,” Patrick murmured, a tired grin touching his lips.
May you like
“Just take your medicine, Mr. Ror,” I said, adjusting the IV drip.
Callum stayed by the bed until his father drifted off to sleep. Then, without a word, he turned and followed me out into the hallway.
