Chapter 2 - The Flatline
The crash cart slammed through the ICU doors before my words had fully settled in the air.
"Code blue! Room 412, code blue!" a nurse shouted, shoving Donald Sterling out of the way.
Elena let out a sharp, theatrical shriek, grabbing Julian by his shoulders and pulling him back against the wall. "Richard! Oh god, Richard! What did she do to him? She did something to him!"
Two doctors and three nurses swarmed the bed. I stepped back calmly, smoothing the lapels of my coat. Richard's chest jerked once under the impact of the automated CPR machine. His eyes remained locked on mine through the gap between two frantic nurses—wide, bloodshot, and paralyzed by the horrifying revelation I had dropped into his dying brain. He tried to speak. He tried to lift his arm toward the paperwork Donald was still clutching to his chest. Only a thin line of spittle escaped his lips.
"Charge to two hundred!" the attending physician yelled. "Clear!"
*Thump.*
Richard’s back arched off the mattress.
"Get them out of here!" the head nurse barked, pointing at Elena and me. "Now!"
Donald Sterling grabbed Elena’s elbow. "Elena, come on. Let the medical team work."
"No! He just signed! The ink isn't even dry!" Elena cried out, her manicured fingers clawing at Donald's sleeve. Her distress wasn't about the dying man; her eyes kept darting to the blue leather folder Donald held. "Tell me it's legal. Tell me it's binding right now!"
"Ma'am, outside!" the nurse ordered.
We were herded into the wide, cold hallway under the hum of fluorescent lights. Elena slumped onto one of the vinyl waiting chairs, breathing heavily, but she didn't weep. Instead, she turned her head, glaring at me with raw venom.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" she hissed, keeping her voice low so Julian wouldn't hear. The boy sat five seats down, staring blankly at the floor with his hands wedged between his knees. "I know Richard had an insurance policy on your marriage. You thought you'd freeze him out? I have thirteen years of his promises, Clara. I have his signed transfers right here."
"You have a folder of paper, Elena," I replied, sitting down directly across from her. My voice was calm, almost conversational. "Whether it buys you a penthouse or an audit is entirely up to how well you understand Richard's actual financial standing."
"What did you whisper to him?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing to slits. "I saw his face. What did you say?"
Before I could answer, the ICU doors pushed open slowly.
The attending physician walked out, pulling his surgical mask down to his neck. His shoulders were slumped. He looked past Elena, his eyes searching the hallway until they rested on me.
"Mrs. Vance?" he said quietly.
Elena shot to her feet before I could stand. "Doctor! How is he? Did you stabilize him?"
The doctor didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on me. "I’m so sorry, Clara. We administered three rounds of epinephrine and shocked him four times. We couldn't get a rhythm back. Time of death: 6:42 PM."
Elena gasped, covering her mouth, but Donald Sterling immediately tightened his grip on the leather folder.
"Thank you, Dr. Harris," I said, my voice steady. "Thank you for doing everything you could."
"Wait!" Elena yelled, her composure instantly shattering into frantic rage. "He signed the papers at 6:38! That means he was alive! The transfer was executed while he was legally competent! Donald, tell them!"
Several hospital visitors turned to stare. Dr. Harris frowned, looking at Elena with undisguised disgust.
"Ma'am," Dr. Harris said coldly, "this is an intensive care ward. Control yourself."
"You don't understand!" Elena screamed, pointing a manicured finger at me. "She killed him! She said something to him and induced cardiac arrest to stop him from providing for his son!"
Julian looked up from his seat, his young face pale and trembling. "Mom... stop. Please."
"Shut up, Julian!" Elena snapped without looking at him. She spun back to Donald Sterling. "File the probate petition tonight. File the transfer with the county recorder first thing in the morning."
Donald adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his brow furrowed with sudden unease. He looked at me, then down at the blue pages inside his folder. "Clara... Richard's instructions were very explicit. I am legally obligated to lodge these documents."
I stood up, walked over to Donald, and met his gaze with absolute clarity.
May you like
"You do whatever you think is legally sound, Donald," I said softly. "Just make sure your malpractice insurance is paid up through the end of the month."
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