Chapter 30
The Last Smile
The transition from the fever dream to reality was soft, like sinking through warm water. Liam opened his eyes. The light in the penthouse had shifted from the harsh, bright glare of the afternoon to the golden, honeyed hue of early evening.
The first thing he felt was the cool touch of a hand on his forehead.
"You're burning up," a voice whispered. It was a voice made of velvet and concern.
Liam blinked, clearing the haze. Emi was sitting on the edge of the bed, still in her office clothes—the charcoal pencil skirt and cream blouse—but she had kicked off her heels. She leaned down, pressing her lips to his forehead, then his cheek, and finally, softly, to his lips.
She tasted of the outside world—of cold wind and mints.
"I'm okay," Liam croaked. He forced a smile, summoning the strength from a reserve that was nearly empty. "Just the body fighting the cold. Standard procedure."
"Standard procedure doesn't usually involve a temperature of 102," Emi chided gently, brushing his hair back. "I should call the doctor."
"No," Liam said, reaching out to catch her hand. His grip was weak, but his eyes were steady. "No doctors tonight. Just family. Just dinner. I’ll rest tomorrow."
Emi looked at him, searching his face. She saw the fatigue, yes. She saw the pallor. But she also saw the calm. She didn't see the dying man; she saw the man recovering from a truck crash. She kissed his hand.
"Okay. But you are staying seated. No moving. I’m going to help Tracey with dinner."
"Deal."
Emi lingered for a moment, her thumb tracing his knuckles, before she stood up and walked out of the bedroom. Liam watched her go. He watched the sway of her hips, the confidence in her stride. He watched her until the door clicked shut.
He let out a breath that rattled in his chest like loose gravel. He reached for his phone on the nightstand. His fingers felt thick and clumsy, disconnected from his brain. He unlocked the screen. The light was blinding. He opened his messages and found Ran’s name.
To: Ran (The Wizard)
Tomorrow morning. 9:00 AM. Mount Sinai West Hospital. Main Entrance.
Ride the bike. It’s ready.
And do me a favor. Stop by Dandelion Chocolate. Pick up the Orchid Chocolate Tower. The big one.
He hit send. He dropped the phone onto the mattress, exhausted by the effort.
Miles away in Queens, inside the now-silent garage of Kim’s Auto Repair, Ran’s phone buzzed on the workbench.
He wiped his hands on a clean rag and picked it up. He read the message.
He froze.
He looked over at the lift. The Sportster sat there, gleaming under the shop lights.
The paint—a deep, lustrous "Red Candy" that Ran had applied three days ago—was finally dry.
It was a masterpiece. He had finished the assembly just an hour ago.
He hadn't told anyone it was done. He hadn't posted it.
How does he know? Ran thought, a shiver running down his spine. How does he know the paint is dry? And then, the location sunk in.
Mount Sinai West Hospital.
Not the penthouse. Not the office. The hospital.
"Michael!" Ran called out, his voice echoing in the empty bay.
Michael poked his head out of the office. "Yeah?"
"We have a ride tomorrow," Ran said, staring at the screen. "Liam wants the bike at the hospital."
"The hospital?" Michael frowned. "Is he... is he checking in for rehab?"
"I don't know," Ran whispered. He looked at the request for the chocolate tower. It seemed so mundane, so celebratory. Orchid Chocolate Tower. That was a gift for a woman.
Ran felt a heavy stone settle in his stomach. He didn't understand the plan, but he recognized the tone. It was the Architect giving instructions.
"We ride at 8," Ran said. "Get the van ready to follow."
Back in the penthouse, the atmosphere was vibrant. The silence of the afternoon had been shattered in the best possible way. The sisters were home.
The living room was a landscape of shopping bags and souvenirs. There were foam Statue of Liberty crowns, "I Love NY" t-shirts, and boxes of chocolates. Anele was running around wearing a green foam crown, pretending to hold a torch.
"Liam! Liam!" Anele shouted as he wheeled himself into the room.
"There she is," Liam smiled. "Lady Liberty herself."
"It was so big!" Anele gushed, climbing onto the arm of his wheelchair, careful of his cast. "We went on a boat! And the wind was like whoosh! And Tracey almost lost her hat!"
"I did not almost lose it," Tracey called from the kitchen, laughing. "I strategically removed it."
"She almost lost it," Chantel whispered to Liam loudly.
Liam laughed. It hurt. His ribs felt like they were being squeezed by a vice, and his lungs burned with every intake of air. But the sound of their happiness was a balm. It was the morphine he needed.
"Dinner is almost ready!" Emi announced, walking out with a stack of plates. "We are having a feast."
Liam wheeled himself to the head of the heavy teak dining table. He watched them set the stage.
Emi had cooked. She had spent the last hour in the kitchen, following a recipe card written in delicate Japanese calligraphy—a recipe Liam’s mother had given her. Japanese Beef Curry. It was thick, rich, and dark, smelling of caramelized onions, apples, and savory spices. It was comfort in a bowl.
Beside it was a pot of perfectly steamed, fluffy white rice.
And for dessert, sitting in a cooler box on the sideboard, were rows of soft puddings from Mojo Desserts—matcha, black sesame, and vanilla.
"It smells like my childhood," Liam said softly as Emi placed the serving bowl in the center.
"I hope I did it justice," Emi said nervously. "I followed Mrs. Sato’s notes exactly. Even the part about grating the apple."
"It’s perfect," Liam said. He hadn't tasted it yet, but he knew. It was made with love. That was the only ingredient that mattered.
They all sat down. Tracey on his left, Emi on his right. The girls across from him.
"Okay," Liam said, tapping his glass with a fork gently. "House rules. Tonight, we eat. But while we eat, we tell the story of the day. And the rule is: it has to be a fun story. No complaints about the cold. No complaints about the walking. Only joy."
"That is a strict rule, Architect," Tracey teased, ladling curry over Anele’s rice.
"I run a tight ship," Liam winked.
They began to eat. The curry was warm, savory, and deeply flavorful. Liam managed to eat a few spoonfuls. His appetite was gone—his body was shutting down the desire for fuel—but he ate to show Emi that he was still there. He ate to be part of the communion.
"Me first!" Anele raised her hand.
"Go ahead, Lady Liberty," Liam nodded.
"Okay," Anele swallowed a mouthful of rice. "So, we were on the boat, right? And there was this bird. A seagull. He was looking at me. Like, really looking. And I had a pretzel. And Tracey said, 'Don't feed the birds, Anele.' But I just... I just held it out a little bit."
Everyone laughed, knowing what was coming.
"And he swooped!" Anele demonstrated with her hands, nearly knocking over her water. "He took the whole pretzel! And then his friends came! And we had to run inside because it was a bird invasion!"
"It was like a horror movie," Chantel added. "Feathers everywhere."
"That sounds terrifying," Liam chuckled. "But funny."
"It was funny," Anele giggled. "The bird looked so happy."
"My turn," Chantel said. "So, after the bird attack, we went to this shop. And there was this guy... he was dressed as Spider-Man. But like, a slightly chubby Spider-Man. And he tried to do a flip to impress Tracey."
"He did not," Tracey covered her face.
"He did!" Chantel insisted. "He tried to flip, but he just kind of... rolled. And his mask fell off. And he looked at Tracey and said, 'I meant to do that.'"
The table erupted. Even Emi was laughing so hard she had to wipe her eyes.
"He was very polite," Tracey defended herself, blushing. "He helped us find the subway."
"A rolling Spider-Man," Liam mused. "Only in New York."
Then it was Emi’s turn. She put down her fork. She looked at Liam. Her eyes were shining in the soft light of the chandelier.
"My story isn't about the Statue," Emi said softly. "It’s about the office."
The table quieted down.
"I was sitting at my desk today," Emi began. "And I was missing someone. I was feeling lonely. And then I got a text. It said, 'We’ll build a skyscraper tonight with pizza and movies.'"
She reached out and took Liam’s hand under the table.
"It wasn't a big adventure," Emi said. "But it made me smile for the rest of the afternoon. Just knowing that I had a skyscraper waiting for me at home. That was the best part of my day."
Liam felt a lump in his throat that no amount of water could wash away. He squeezed her hand. His fingers were cold, but hers were warm.
"That’s a good story," Liam whispered.
"Your turn, Liam!" Anele banged her spoon on the table. "You have to tell a story! A fun one!"
Liam looked around the table. He looked at Anele, the little girl who sang Baby Shark to him in the ICU. He looked at Chantel, the teenager who fried dough in his pristine kitchen and made it feel like a home.
He looked at Tracey, the matriarch who had welcomed him without question. And, he looked at Emi. His Queen. His Finance Manager. His infinite happiness.
He felt the darkness encroaching at the edges of his vision. It wasn't scary. It was like the dimming of lights in a theater before the credits rolled. The pain in his bones was fading, replaced by a heavy, drifting weightlessness.
He knew. He knew he had seconds. Maybe a minute.
He summoned every last volt of energy in his nervous system. He commanded his facial muscles to hold the line. He refused to let them see the fear. He refused to let the last image they had of him be one of agony.
He blinked softly, his eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a moth.
"Okay," Liam said. His voice was soft, barely more than a breath, but it carried in the silence of the room. "My story is short. It’s a joke."
"A joke!" Anele clapped.
Liam looked straight at Emi. He locked eyes with her. He poured everything he couldn't say—the notebooks, the deeds, the secrets, the love—into that gaze.
"Knock, knock," Liam whispered.
The table leaned in.
"Who's there?" Anele and Emi chorused together, smiling.
Liam paused. He took a breath that didn't reach his lungs.
"Olive," Liam breathed.
"Olive who?" Emi asked, her smile widening, anticipating the silliness.
Liam smiled. It was the North Star smile. Bright. Unwavering. Eternal.
"Olive... you," Liam whispered.
I love you.
Emi’s smile broke wide open. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated joy. She squeezed his hand, ready to laugh, ready to tease him for being corny.
"That’s so cheesy, Liam!" she started to say.
Liam saw the smile. He captured it. He froze it in his mind.
That’s it, he thought. That’s the last thing I see.
The darkness rushed in. The tether snapped.
Liam’s eyes closed.
His head dipped forward, chin to chest.
His hand went limp in Emi’s grip.
And then, gravity took him.
His body slumped sideways out of the wheelchair.
THUD!
It was a heavy, sickening sound against the polished teakwood floor. The sound of a tree falling in a forest.
"Liam?" Emi’s smile vanished instantly.
The room froze for a millisecond—a tableau of horror interrupting the joy.
"LIAM!"
Emi scrambled out of her chair, dropping to her knees beside him.
He was lying on his side. His face was pale, serene, the smile still faintly etched on his lips like a memory.
"Liam! Liam, wake up!" Emi screamed, shaking his shoulders.
Tracey was there in a second, checking his pulse. Her face went ashen.
"Call 911!" Tracey shouted at Chantel. "Now! Chantel, call!"
"Liam, please," Emi sobbed, pulling his heavy head into her lap. "Please, don't do this. You were just joking. You were just smiling. Olive you. Olive you, Liam. Please!"
Anele started to cry, a high, terrified wail. But Liam didn't hear them. He didn't hear the sirens that would soon wail down Park Avenue. He didn't feel Emi’s tears falling on his face.
He was gone. He had slipped into the coma, drifting away on the tide of the Japanese curry and the laughter. He had held the roof up until the very last second. He had waited until they were all happy, until they were all fed, until Emi was smiling.
And then, satisfied with his work, the Architect laid down his tools and rested.