6. George
GEORGE
George turned the loose pages over in a state of sheer disbelief, his fingers trembling against the crisp paper.
He stared at the detailed geological charts, waiting for Michael to return with the older records stored inside the penthouse safe.
The text on the pages seemed to blur together under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room.
"This can't be right," George breathed, words barely a whisper as a cold knot of dread tightened inside him.
The door swung open, and Michael walked back into the room holding a faded manila folder.
"If you're going to keep a secure safe up in your apartment, you really have to change the combination from the standard numbers you use for everything," Michael said, setting the old records onto the over-bed table. "Using those same four digits is practically inviting a breach."
George barely heard the warning, his mind entirely consumed by the documents in his lap. He offered a half-hearted grumble about getting the code changed, his hand reaching out to track the fresh data sheets instead of the old files Michael had just retrieved.
They focused their attention on the new evidence Anna had compiled, skipping past the historical rejections from decades ago.
George flipped to a stamped verification sheet, his eyes locking onto the corporate header at the top of the timeline.
His breath hitched as a sudden, sharp recognition struck him, the technical layouts mirroring a memory he had buried deep in his mind.
"Son of a..." George cut himself off, his voice tight as he shoved the document directly toward his nephew's chest. "That survey that was done six months ago.
Look at the description." His thumb pressed hard against the lower margin.
"That slippery woman had an independent survey executed under the strict corporate guise of an environmental drainage assessment and aquifer stability check. "
Michael took the sheet, his eyes scanning the technical rows. A subtle, knowing curve appeared on his lips, a quiet flash of validation that didn't go amiss.
George watched the expression, his frustration boiling over as a wave of heat rushed up his neck. "Are you siding with Anna on this?"
Michael didn’t answer immediately, his legal mask remaining perfectly still as he studied the charts.
George’s head was in a violent spin, the sheer shock of the text making the room feel deeply unstable.
Without warning, every single truth he had built his life upon for the past forty years was fracturing into pieces.
The defensive walls of his stubborn pride were crumbling into dust. He had ruined something real, throwing away his own marriage and casting out the only woman he had ever truly loved, all because he had placed his full faith in a cleverly disguised corporate lie.
The massive weight of the shame and the raw, bleeding heartache hit his chest all at once.
"This can't be right," George muttered again, his voice breaking as the reality of his own foolishness settled behind his eyes. He looked up, his gaze meeting his nephew's steady stare. "Is this real?"
"It is real," Michael told him, though his tone held no comfort at all. "I know the environmental engineering firm that Anna contracted to run these core samples. They are an elite outfit, and they don't mess around with their data lines."
George swallowed hard, his mouth feeling dry as bone. "Then does that mean the historical findings are genuine on the Hearts Hotel property?"
"Going strictly with the stratigraphy reports Anna provided here, I'm going to have to say yes," Michael said, his jaw setting into a hard line. "I will personally verify the chain of custody on the soil samples, though."
"Good," George said, though the word tasted like ash on his tongue. In his heart, he knew the truth. Anna's records were flawless, the science completely unyielding.
A loud, roaring sound started in his ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the hospital corridor.
His head spun violently, the pale green walls tilting at an alarming angle.
Oh no, what had he done? He really was an old fool.
A sudden, terrifying pressure clamped down around his lungs, a heavy vice tightening until his breath was cut off.
A sharp, blinding pain ripped straight through the center of his chest, making him gasp desperately for air.
Dizziness swamped his senses, the hospital room blurring into a tunnel of dark shadows. In the distance, the steady pulse of the vitals monitor shifted, a frantic, rhythmic beeping filling the air as his heart raced out of control.
“Uncle George!” He heard Michael calling out his name, the voice sounding distant and warped, as though it were traveling through deep water.
George tried to reach out a trembling hand toward his nephew, his fingers clawing at the white sheet.
"Sorry..." George managed to mutter, his vision darkening to a pinpoint. "Tell... tell... Anna... sorry."
The world went black.
Michael
Michael lunged across the bed rail, a surge of pure panic ice-charging through his veins as George's eyes rolled back and his hand dropped lifelessly against the mattress. The heart monitor’s steady rhythm shattered, replaced by a high-pitched, screaming alarm that echoed loudly against the tile walls.
"Uncle George!" Michael barked, his fingers clumsy with adrenaline as he fumbled along the plastic housing of the rail, desperately searching for the emergency call button. He slammed his palm against the plastic toggle, shouting for the nursing staff at the top of his lungs.
“Help,” Michael screamed so loud his throat burned from the force of it. “Help! Doctor! Doctor!”
George was gasping, his chest hitching in shallow, unnatural jerks as the color drained from his face, leaving his features a terrifying, pale shade of gray.
Michael frantically scooped up the loose survey sheets scattered across his uncle's chest, his hands shaking as he gathered the data packets to clear the space for the medical team. He needed to do something. He needed to get to his uncle, but there was so much paper.
“Somebody, get here,” Michael screamed again. “My Uncle. Help my Uncle!” His whole body shook violently. “Uncle George, hang on. Help is coming. Hang on, Uncle George, please, please hang on.”
The heavy wood door crashed open against the wall bumper, and the room instantly flooded with uniforms.
Nurses and residents pushed past him in a blur of frantic efficiency.
Michael was shoved roughly into the far corner of the room, his back pressing hard against the window glass as he clutched the manila folders tight against his ribs.
He watched in horror as a heavy red crash cart was wheeled through the threshold, the metal frames clicking loudly as a doctor barked out orders to prep the defibrillator pads.
The chaos was overwhelming, a sea of raised voices, tearing fabric, and the constant, piercing alarm from the monitor.
Michael stood frozen, his chest heaving as he watched the team descend over the bed.
He barely noticed when a firm hand gripped his upper arm, guiding his rigid frame backward through the press of bodies.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Heart.” The nurse’s voice barely registered to him. “You’re going to have to wait outside.”
Michael stumbled past the threshold, and the heavy wood door shut closed right in front of his face.
He stood motionless in the middle of the corridor, his breath ragged as he stared blankly at the blank wood panel. His knuckles were white where he held the folders.
"Michael?"
The sound of Maggie's voice snapped him out of the numbing trance. He turned his head sharply to see her and Anna hurrying down the hallway from the visitor elevators, their strides quickening as they took in his defensive posture.
Maggie started to speak, her expression light, a playful smile appearing on her face. "Did George kick you out of his room already for bringing the wrong kind of?—"
She cut herself off mid-sentence, the words dying in her throat the moment she took a proper look at his face. The absolute, shocked horror painted across his features made her halt her stride a few feet away.
Both women went completely rigid, their attention darting past his shoulder toward the narrow glass viewing panel of the door.
Through the gap, they caught a chaotic glimpse of the resuscitation team hovering over the mattress before a nurse reached out and pulled the plastic blinds shut, cutting off the view.
Michael watched the horror settle onto both Maggie's and Anna's faces, the blood draining from their cheeks until they looked utterly ashen in the bright corridor lighting.
"Michael..." Anna breathed, her fingers coming up to press against her throat, her gaze locked onto the closed plastic slats. "What..." She forced her eyes to travel back to his face and broke into a trembling whisper. "What is going on in there?"
"I... um..." Michael tried to form a coherent response, but the words felt like solid lead, lodged tight in his throat.
He shook his head, trying to clear the fog and anchor his thoughts under the immense pressure of the emergency.
"We were just going over the documents." He raised the heavy folders slightly, his grip tightening around the cardboard edges.
"He couldn't breathe. It just happened so fast." He looked directly at Anna, his voice turning into a rough, strained whisper. "He said… He said, tell Anna sorry."
Anna
"What?" Anna muttered, her voice cracking as the word caught in her throat.
Her head snapped toward the door. Michael had not moved from the framework, his tall form frozen as if he had been turned to stone.
Anna lunged past him, her palm striking the thick glass viewing window of the heavy wooden door with a sharp thud.
"George!" she hissed, her breath fogging the small pane as she frantically tried to see through any tiny gaps in the slats.
Her heart had started to pound so loud it echoed through her ears.
"George, don't you dare die on me." She slapped the glass window. Not caring as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Don’t you dare die on me, you stubborn, stubborn old coot.”
She wanted to bash through that glass pane. Anna needed to see he was alright. She had just come back to finally face him. “You don’t get to get off this easily, George Heart,” she whispered as she tried to control her shaky knees.
Maggie broke the paralyzing shock first. She stepped forward, gently guiding Michael away from the threshold before he could sink further into his own panic.
He still held the scattered survey documents tightly against his chest like a shield.
Maggie took the pages from his stiff fingers, neatened the wrinkled edges into a straight stack, and placed them onto an empty vinyl chair in the waiting area beside him.
Then she went over and did the same for Anna, who moved as if she didn’t even realize she was doing so.
Her gaze fixed on the window as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Once they were both seated, Maggie then sat down between Michael and Anna, reaching out to grasp a hand from each of them. Anna felt the warm, steady pressure of Maggie's fingers, and she barely registered the comfort, her eyes remaining glued to the closed white panel.
"He can't die," Anna muttered, her mind spinning in a dark vortex of shock.
"This is all my fault. I shouldn't have landed those documents on his chest." She shook her head in rapid, panicked movements, staring at her lap.
"Not now. He's still so weak from the hip surgery. What on earth was I thinking?"
"Stop it, this isn't your fault," Maggie assured her, squeezing her hand firmly to force her back to reality.
"No, the blame belongs to me," Michael stated, his voice flat as he stared blankly at the linoleum floor. "I shouldn't have pushed him for the truth today. I knew he wasn't strong enough yet to handle all this stress."
"Will both of you stop this right now?" Maggie hissed, her gaze darting between them as her grip tightened on their hands. "We don't even know what happened inside that room yet."
Right on cue, the heavy silver latch clicked, and the door swung open.
The attending physician stepped out into the corridor, pausing to hold the door wide as two orderly nurses began wheeling George's mobile bed out into the hallway.
Anna's heart stopped, a cold weight dropping into her stomach as she watched the metal frame glide past them.
The doctor stepped toward the trio, his expression serious but controlled as he addressed their panic.
He explained that the immense emotional stress had triggered an acute hypertensive crisis, causing a severe spike in George's blood pressure that resulted in transient cardiac ischemia, a painful angina episode that mimicked a heart attack.
Because he was still recovering from a major orthopedic procedure, his cardiovascular system couldn't tolerate the abrupt shock.
Due to this significant setback, George wouldn't be checking out of the hospital tomorrow, and he would need to remain under strict monitoring in the intensive care unit for the next forty-eight hours until his vitals stabilized.
“And for the next forty-eight hours, I can’t have George under any emotional stress, so I have to prohibit visitors.
” He looked at the three of them, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
"I'm afraid you can only observe George through the glass partition of the ICU for a few moments, just to put your minds at rest for the afternoon.
He'll be sedated for the next few hours to keep his heart rate stable and allow the medication to work.
I'll ensure the nurse's station contacts you with any updates, but for now, he needs total quiet. "
They followed the doctor down the winding recovery wing, their steps echoing softly until they stopped outside the wide glass window of the intensive care unit.
Inside the small room, the nursing staff worked with practiced efficiency, anchoring George's bed to the main monitoring arrays.
A clear plastic nasal cannula was looped over his ears, delivering oxygen, and multiple IV lines ran into the back of his hand.
The steady, rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor was the only sound filtering through the glass.
He looked so fragile, his skin a terrifyingly pale shade against the white hospital sheets.
Anna felt her heart shattering into pieces, the heavy weight of the guilt tearing her apart from the inside out.
Her mind kept replaying the confrontation over and over, remembering how she had violently slammed the manila folder against his chest. That can't be the final moment we ever share, she thought, a single tear finally escaping her eye.