Calculated Awakening
1590 Words
The morning nurse arrived just after sunrise. The soft squeak of her shoes was the only sound breaking the silence of the hospital corridor. She pushed a small medical trolley ahead of her, moving with practiced calm as she approached Hillary’s room. At the door, Mr. Lucas stood firmly in place, his posture rigid, eyes sharp and alert. Nothing got past him—not even the slightest movement.
Inside, Diego was asleep in the chair beside the bed, his head tilted slightly toward Hillary, one hand still loosely holding hers as if letting go would mean losing her completely.
Mr. Lucas stepped in quietly and touched his shoulder. “The nurse is here.”
Diego stirred immediately, blinking away exhaustion as he straightened up. Before he could fully collect himself, the nurse was already at Hillary’s bedside.
She checked the monitors first—fragile numbers blinking back at her. Then she adjusted the IV line with careful precision, replacing the fluid bag and inserting a fresh dose of medication.
Mr. Lucas didn’t move. He watched everything—every tube, injection and change in expression on the nurse’s face.
Diego's eyes locked on her hands, waiting for something—anything—that would tell him Hillary was holding on.
When she finished, she checked the monitor one last time, then turned slightly toward him.
“She’s responding to treatment,” she said. “But the doctor will come by later to run more tests and assess her progress.”
Diego didn’t respond immediately. His eyes stayed on Hillary.
“Alright,” he said quietly.
The nurse gave a small nod, gathered her tools, and left the room just as quietly as she had entered.
Nobody spoke. Then Diego's phone rang.
He checked the screen, and it was his father calling.
He stepped away from the bed before answering. “Hello.”
“Where are you?” his father’s voice came through immediately. “Come home, now.”
Diego glanced back at Hillary once before replying, “I’ll be there,” he replied and hung up.
Mr. Lucas had overheard the conversation.
“You should go,” he said firmly. “I’ll stay here. Nothing will happen to her under my watch.”
Diego hesitated. The urge not to leave was written all over him.
“Don’t let anyone in the room except Dr. Anemi and his nurses,” he said.
“You have my word.”
Diego picked up his phone again and called his driver.
"Pick me up at the parking lot near the college.”
Hanging up the call, he made a quick scan of the room, glanced at Mr. Lucas and left.
And something about the way he walked out, made it clear—he wasn’t just leaving a hospital behind. He was leaving a truth he wasn’t ready to share.
The atmosphere at home was different. The air wasn't thick with the smell of hospital antiseptic anymore. It was fresh and alive.
His father sat in the main parlour with a laptop open, documents scattered beside him—work from the family textile company spread across the table like unfinished battles.
Diego entered, greeted his father briefly, and headed toward the stairs.
“Diego.”
The voice stopped him instantly.
He paused and turned slowly.
His father finally looked up from the laptop.
“Where were you last night?”
Diego stayed quiet for a moment. Then answered carefully, “I was at a friend’s place.”
His father closed the laptop.
“Why do you lie?” he asked.
Diego’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, making sure his face wouldn't betray him.
“Look at me when I speak to you!”
The sharpness in the voice made Diego straighten his head.
“I know Hillary is at the hospital,” he said directly. “Fighting for her life.”
Diego froze, his eyes flickering for a second.
“She is like a daughter to me,” he continued, his voice lower now. “Stop hiding things. Tell me what happened.”
Diego’s chest tightened. He didn’t speak immediately.
Instead, one question echoed in his mind.
How does he know?
His father exhaled, slow and measured, and set the laptop aside. The sharpness from before softened.
“I received three bank alerts at 2:25 a.m.,” he said evenly. “Large transfers from your personal account to St. George's Private Hospital.”
Diego's fingers twitched at his sides. He'd paid for the private ICU, the specialists, and the dialysis. He hadn't thought twice about it.
"I don’t monitor your money, Diego,” his father went on. “But when it’s that amount, at that hour, to a hospital, I knew something was definitely off. I assigned Kade to bring me answers.”
Kade was his father's most trusted operative.
He handled the kind of assignments that never appeared in company records, solving problems while everyone else was still trying to understand them.
“He was at St. George's before sunrise. He saw Mr. Lucas standing outside Room 312. Knowing he couldn't get inside, he disguised himself as a technician, gained access to the control room, hacked into the CCTV system, and brought me the footage.” His voice remained steady. “I recognized Hillary the moment I saw her.”
Diego swallowed hard. He knew his father was resourceful, but he had never realized his network ran this deep.
"Now, will you talk?"
Diego dropped his gaze to the scattered textile documents, then back up. Lying was pointless now.
“She attempted suicide and left a note. Her organs are in critical condition."
The words gave his father chills.
"And it’s not just that,” Diego added.
“Someone tipped off the board. They called an emergency meeting at one in the morning. They already knew she was in the hospital and that it was an overdose. They're moving against Crawford F&B while she's unconscious.”
Silence held tight in the room. His father rose and walked to the window, arms crossed.
“Then this was engineered,” his father said, piecing everything together.
“Harry disappears under false accusations. Months later, his daughter tries to take her own life. Within hours, the board makes its move. That's no coincidence."
"I thought same Dad. Someone must have been waiting for this opportunity, and left no crumbs when the chance came."
"I'll call Kade then. He's the only one who can help you out," he said, already dialing. “You’ll tell him everything; every detail, no matter how small.”
He paused, then looked back at Diego. “And you’re not going back to that hospital alone.”
Diego frowned. “Dad, Lucas—”
“Lucas is one man, and he's already been there for eighteen hours,” his father interrupted. “I'm sending three more—former special forces. They worked with me during the 2019 port disputes. They answer to Kade, and now they answer to you. They'll be at St. George's before the next nursing shift.”
He ended the call and set the phone down on the table between them.
"You should have told me, Diego,” he said, quieter now. “Harry saved my company once. I owe him," His eyes locked on Diego "and you’re my son. We don’t bleed alone in this family.”
Diego finally looked up. For the first time since he walked in, the weight on his shoulders didn’t feel like it might crush him.
“Okay,” he replied. His voice was rough. “Let’s find who did this.”
His father gave a single nod. "Kade is already on the move."
His gaze fell in Diego’s eyes; dark circles under his eyes and red at the corners. He could feel his exhaustion.
"You have to get some sleep, Diego. You're no good to her like this,” he said. “And you're no good to me if you collapse halfway through this.”
Diego opened his mouth. His father didn’t let him speak.
"Do as I say. You need it. The maid will bring you food upstairs."
Every part of Diego wanted to refuse, but he could barely keep his eyes open and the smell of hospital antiseptic would make his head spin. He hadn’t eaten since he found her note.
His father saw the hesitation and pressed. “I'll talk to Lucas myself. Kade has the footage, but Lucas can fill in the rest. Three men are already on their way to the hospital. If a fly lands on her chart, I'll know. She's covered.”
The words loosened something in Diego’s chest. He wasn’t abandoning her but leaving her in safer hands.
“Thanks, Dad.” Diego said, the fight going out of him.
A faint smile touched his father's lips as he reopened the laptop and returned to the company files.
Diego stood beneath the scalding water until it turned cold, trying to wash away the antiseptic smell, the exhaustion, and the relentless sound of the monitor's steady beep.
He stepped out of the bathroom to find a tray of food waiting beside the bed. With every bite, he felt a little more human. He finished everything before lying down.
His mind remained divided—half with Hillary, half chasing a thought he couldn't quite catch.
As Diego drifted into a deep sleep, his phone lit up on the bedside table.
Unknown Number
If you want Hillary alive, stop interfering in Crawford F&B.
- Writer
