10. The Final Dose #2
Nina slammed the wheelchair to a halt at the head of the long mahogany dining table.
I stared straight ahead, my gaze fixed squarely on the massive flat-screen television mounted against the far wall.
Simon sat immediately to my right, his back turned completely to the blank screen.
He was busy shuffling a stack of corporate documents, the crisp rustle of the thick paper filling the quiet room as he aligned the edges against the polished wood.
A hollow chime echoed through the foyer. The doorbell.
Simon dropped his papers and stood up, adjusting the front of his suit jacket. “That’s them. Stay here with her.”
Nina nodded, crossing her arms and taking up a guard-like position just behind my right shoulder. We waited in silence until the heavy thud of the front door closing signaled they were inside.
A minute later, Simon walked back into the room.
Lawrence Stanton stepped into the dining area right behind him, wearing an immaculate charcoal wool suit that carried the rich scent of dry-cleaning and fresh printer ink.
A shorter, balding man clutching a leather briefcase trailed nervously in his wake.
Lawrence’s eyes immediately locked onto mine.
His lethal, professional calm instantly silenced the arrogant buzz coming off Simon and Nina.
He delivered a single, barely visible nod.
Seeing him physically sitting down at this table hardened my absolute resolve, as he was carrying our ambush perfectly disguised in a legal portfolio.
Lawrence pulled out a dining chair on my left side, sitting directly across from Simon. The leather upholstery squeaked under his weight.
“Good afternoon, Simon, Nina,” Lawrence said, his voice crisp and authoritative. “This is Mr. Davis, a state-certified notary. He’ll be witnessing the proxy transfer.”
Simon leaned forward, adopting his rehearsed, sorrowful posture. “Thank you for coming, Lawrence. I know this is a difficult day for Audrey.”
Listening to him use my supposed illness to play the ‘tragic hero’ made a hot flush of anger prickle along my hairline. As Lawrence set his thick leather folder onto the table, I let my right hand slide slowly off my lap.
I slipped my fingers beneath the frayed edge of the knit blanket draped over my legs. The hard plastic casing of the burner phone rested right where I had transferred it from my jacket pocket. I wrapped my hand securely around the device, keeping it entirely concealed beneath the fabric.
My thumb glided over the smooth glass screen, hovering directly over the center where the digital play button waited. I rested my thumb against the edge of the plastic casing, using the rigid boundary to keep my hand from shaking.
Lawrence tapped the cover of his folder. “It is a highly significant day. I have the irrevocable proxy documents right here.”
Mr. Davis set his briefcase on the table, unlatching the metal clasps with a sharp click. He pulled out a blue pen and looked at me, clearing his throat.
“Mrs. Prescott, I just need to ask you a few standard questions to confirm your capacity before we begin.”
Mr. Davis clicked his blue ballpoint pen. The dry, metallic scratch echoed off the mahogany, cutting through the stifling silence of the dining room. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, looking at me the way an impatient clerk looks at a confused customer.
“For the state record, Mrs. Prescott, please state your full name and today’s date.”
I kept my chin level. “Audrey Eleanor Prescott,” I replied. “Friday, October the twelfth.”
My voice rang out perfectly clear, free of the breathy weakness I had faked for months.
Beside me, Simon shifted his weight. The sudden clarity in my tone made him nervous.
He leaned over my right shoulder, dropping his hand onto the canvas backrest of my wheelchair.
His knuckles hovered a fraction of an inch from my neck, radiating an oppressive, uncomfortable body heat.
A rigid tension seized my back. I refused to shrink away from his proximity.
Beneath the heavy knit blanket, my right hand clamped down harder on the burner phone.
I pressed the pad of my thumb firmly against the digital play button, using the physical resistance to steady myself, making absolutely sure I didn’t press it prematurely.
Across the table, Lawrence remained perfectly still. His eyes tracked Simon’s hand, registering the silent threat, but his face remained a mask of professional stone.
Mr. Davis made a check mark on his legal pad. The overhead chandelier cast a sharp, white glare across the dark wood, reflecting off the polished surface and highlighting the dense stack of corporate transfer documents.
“Do you understand that by signing this proxy, you are surrendering all executive control of your agency to your husband?” Mr. Davis asked.
Selling this final lie required zero effort.
I looked directly at the notary, fully aware of the sheer, insufferable arrogance of the man standing beside me.
Simon genuinely believed he had me cornered.
He thought his months of grinding pills into my food had successfully reduced me to a compliant, broken invalid.
Letting him taste the victory for five more seconds felt justified.
“I am stepping down voluntarily, and I trust Simon with my shares.”
Simon exhaled a long, ragged breath. His chest visibly deflated, his anxious tension evaporating as he slumped back into his leather dining chair. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around my shoulder to give me a patronizing squeeze.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Simon murmured, a sickeningly gentle smile spreading across his face. “We’re doing the right thing.”
Mr. Davis nodded, apparently satisfied with my answers. He unclipped the top packet, peeling the final sheet of thick paper away from the bundle.
“Then we are ready,” Mr. Davis said, sliding the signature page over the polished mahogany until it rested directly in front of me. “Please sign on the bottom line.”