Dawn Deal
620 Words
Chapter Seven
The alarm still screamed.
Claire didn’t let go of Damien’s wrist. If the doctor wanted a show, he’d get one. “You’re bluffing,” she said. Voice steady. “You cancel Lily’s trial, you lose your research. No patient, no data, no funding.”
The doctor smiled wider. “I have twelve other patients. Desperate ones. Parents who’ll sign anything. Your sister’s just the face, Ms. Whitaker. Faces are replaceable.”
On his phone, Lily shifted in sleep. A nurse adjusted her IV. She didn’t know she was the price.
Damien finally moved. He stepped in front of Claire. Not touching her. Shielding her. “The contract is mine,” he said. “You touch it, I burn every grant you have. Every board seat. Every hospital wing with your name on it.”
“Try it,” the doctor said. “By dawn, the press gets the full story. Billionaire buys wife. Wife sells sister. Cancer trial is PR stunt. You’ll both be finished by Monday 8am.”
Marta’s voice cut through the alarm. “Security has him outnumbered, Mr. Blackwood. Order?”
Damien didn’t look at her. His eyes stayed on Claire. “Your choice,” he said quietly. “I give him the contract. Lily keeps her slot. We both lose everything else. Or you come with me. We go to the West Wing. Now.”
Claire’s heart hammered. Rule four. Don’t enter the West Wing. He’d said not yet.
Yet was here.
She dropped his wrist and walked. Past the doctor. Past the guards. Past the dress puddled on the floor. Bare feet, half-zipped gown, no keycard.
The West Wing door was still open. The lamp still on. The wall of Lily photos watched her.
Damien followed. Closed the door behind them. Locked it. The alarm cut to silence.
He went straight to the desk. Pulled out a drawer. Not files. A safe. Fingerprint, then code. Inside: one folder. Red stamp. CONFIDENTIAL.
He set it on the desk between them. Didn’t open it.
“This is why my father died,” Damien said. “Bad trial. Rushed approval. Doctor pushed it through for the board. I’ve spent three years collecting proof.”
Claire stared at the folder. “If we use this, his career ends. Lily’s doctor. The man who’s treated her since she was six.”
“If we don’t,” Damien said, “he cancels her Monday. He already decided.”
The phone buzzed. Doctor’s voice, smug: “Dawn in ten minutes, Blackwood. Contract. Or I pull the plug.”
Claire put her hand on the folder. Paper under her palm. Twelve million bought her time. This folder could buy Lily a future. And destroy the man who’d kept her alive for years.
Damien watched her. No line on the rug here. No rules left. “Rule one, two, three,” he said. “All broken. Last rule is yours. Trust me, or don’t.”
She opened the folder.
First page: signatures. Doctor. Board. Date three months before Lily’s diagnosis.
Claire’s hands started to shake. Not fear. Rage.
Downstairs, the doctor’s voice came through the intercom, counting down. “Five minutes.”
Claire looked up at Damien. “We end him,” she said. “But not like this. Not with his signature alone.”
She flipped to the last page. Blank. Except for one line at the bottom, handwritten.
If you’re reading this, you broke the rules. Good. E.B.
E.B. Damien’s father.
Claire met Damien’s eyes. “Your dad knew. He left us a way.”
The door to the West Wing rattled. Someone was trying the handle.
Damien grabbed her hand. No hesitation this time. “Run.”
They ran.
- Writer
