CROWN OF DECEPTION

The Succession Window

CHAPTER 2

The ICU doors swung open.

Diego grabbed the doctor by the collar.

His grip was more desperate than aggressive, his eyes welling up with tears. "What happened?" he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "You promised you'd save her..."

He blinked hard, but the tears kept coming, turning the doctor's face into nothing more than a pale blur beneath the fluorescent lights.

"I did everything I could..." The doctor’s voice was steady, practiced. It sounded rehearsed—the kind of sentence repeated so many times it had lost the power to comfort.

Diego felt like he was drowning in his own despair. The antiseptic smell of the hospital burned his nose. The heart monitor beeped somewhere down the hall — mockingly.

His shoulders slumped, and he let go of the doctor's collar, covering his face with his hands as sobs racked his body.

As Diego's sobs subsided, he felt a cold numbness creep in. The kind that comes after you’ve cried so hard your body gives up. He dropped his hands, his eyes locking onto the doctor's.

"How is she now?" he asked, voice hollow.

The doctor's expression was a mix of pity and guilt. He glanced at the chart in his hands like it might give him a better answer. "She's in a coma."

The word hit Diego harder than the word dead would have. Dead was final, but coma was hope that could be snatched away any second.

Diego turned away, his gaze drifting to a window. The guard had slipped out an hour ago, muttering about checking the house. Diego hadn’t even noticed him leave.

Outside, the city was alive, uncaring. Cars honked. Life moved on like Hillary Crawford wasn’t lying upstairs half dead.

He pressed his forehead against the cold glass. "She can't leave me," he whispered.

The doctor's words hung in the air like a bad omen. Diego's eyes stayed fixed on the window, but his mind was back in the past — memories of Hillary laughing, her smile, her crazy antics... all swirling in a painful haze.

Like the time she’d convinced him to sneak into Crawford F&B’s R&D kitchen at 2am to “test” the new chocolate line. She’d gotten cocoa powder in her hair and declared herself “CEO of Disasters.” Diego had to carry her out before security found them.

They were both young, living their teenage lives without a care in the world.

A lump formed in his throat again, but he choked it down. He had to face reality.

"What are the chances?" he asked, voice low and rough. He didn’t turn from the window.

The doctor hesitated. Diego heard the rustle of the chart, the shift of expensive shoes on tile. "It's touch and go. We're running dialysis to clear her toxins and giving her nutrients through IV. If her organs do not respond to treatment within the next 24 hours,....."

The doctor's words trailed off as Diego's gaze snapped back to him.

"Touch and go?" Diego repeated.

"What does that mean? She's going to wake up. Right?"

He took a step closer, searching the doctor's face for any glimmer of hope, any lie he could believe.

The doctor shifted uncomfortably. His name tag said Dr. Anemi, ICU. The kind that dealt with the million dollar cases. "We can't predict outcomes with overdoses, Mr.—"

"Diego," he said flatly. "Just Diego."

"Diego," Dr. Anemi nodded. "We're doing everything we can. She’s stable for now. But the next few days are critical."

Diego's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

"Do everything," he growled. "Everything."

Dr. Anemi opened his mouth, maybe to recite hospital policy or talk about costs. Then he looked at Diego — really looked — and closed it again. He just nodded once and left, his footsteps echoing down the sterile hall.

Diego stood alone. The only sound was the hum of the AC and the distant beeping from other rooms. Other people’s crises.

He walked to Hillary’s door. A nurse blocked him with a gentle hand. "Family only for the next hour, sir."

With just a stare from Diego, the nurse lowered her head and moved aside.

Hillary looked small in the bed, swallowed by tubes and wires. The all-white look of the room added to her paleness. The heart monitor beeped quietly.

He pulled up a chair and laced his fingers through Hillary’s cold hands.

“You don’t get to do this, Hills,” he murmured. “You don’t get to scare me and then check out. Your company would be torn apart. You can’t leave me to deal with it.”

Hours passed by, Diego slowly fell asleep from fatigue.

The door opened with a soft click.

Diego was on his feet instantly, body blocking the bed. Fight instinct, even though he was running on three hours of sleep and grief.

Mr. Lucas stepped in first, Harry’s guard, big, quiet and always in dark suits. Then Kimberley. Harry’s secretary — Hillary’s now, in a pencil skirt, wrinkled blouse, hair pulled back like she’d left in a hurry. Her face was pale and professional.

"Oh my God!" Kimberley shouted in shock as she saw her president on the bed.

Diego looked between them. “How—”

"Mr. Preston. We need to talk. Something happened at the company and the guard brought me here when I reached Crawford's villa."

"What has happened?"

Kimberley swallowed. Her hands were clasped tight in front of her. “I got the call three hours ago from the board. They had scheduled an emergency meeting.”

Diego frowned. “Get to the point.”

Kimberley’s voice stayed level, but her fingers twisted. "When I got there, they already knew.”

“Knew what?” Diego asked, even though his stomach already sank.

“That Ms. Crawford is in a coma.” Kimberley looked at Hillary. “They knew the time she was admitted. That it was an overdose. They wanted to cast an immediate vote for a new president.”

The room went cold.

Mr. Lucas shut the door quietly. “No one called the press. No one called the family. You and I brought her in, Diego. We told the doctors her name, not her title. How do they know?”

Diego sat down hard in the chair. He looked at Hillary. Then at Kimberley. “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing,” Kimberley said, fast and firm. “I said I had not spoken to Ms. Crawford today and I could not confirm any medical condition. I said calling a vote without next of kin or legal counsel present would be premature and expose the company to litigation. They backed off. For now.”

Mr. Lucas nodded once in approval. Harry had trusted Kimberley for a reason. She was good under fire.

Diego rubbed his face. His brain lagged.

“It happened just the previous afternoon. We haven’t told anyone. The hospital has confidentiality. The only people who know are in this room, and the ICU staff.”

“Exactly,” Mr. Lucas said.

The fluorescent lights brightened the room.

Then Diego looked up. His eyes were red but sharp now. “Does the press know?”

Kimberley shook her head. “No. I checked on the way here. If they knew, vans would be outside. The board wants to move before it becomes public.”

Diego stood. He walked to the window. The same city outside, same uncaring lights, but now it felt different. The city had developed eyes.

He turned back. “Then we must keep this a secret at all costs.”

Kimberley and Mr. Lucas didn’t argue.

“There must be a rebel among the board members,” Diego said. “Someone who knew the moment she was admitted. Someone who has a contact here, or who...” He didn’t finish. Because the other option was worse.

Someone in this hospital sold them out.

Mr. Lucas stepped forward. “Mr. Crawford trusted me with his house, his daughter. I failed him once when he had to run. I won’t fail him twice."

Kimberley’s chin lifted. “Mr. Crawford was good to me. He gave me a job when no one else would. Ms. Crawford kept me on when she took over. I’m not letting them steal her company while she can’t fight.”

Diego looked at both of them. Then at Hillary, small in the bed. President of Crawford F&B at 23 years old because her father was gone. And now someone wanted her gone too.

Thoughts began racing in his head.

All these happening must definitely have a root cause. Mr. Crawford's sudden exile, and right after Hillary's illness the company is battling? This must definitely be orchestrated.

A beep from the dialysis brought Diego back to the room.

“Okay,” Diego said. “We go by rules now."

He held up a hand and started counting off.

“One. The press shouldn't hear of this. If one reporter finds out she’s here, the board has grounds to call her unfit. We lose.”

Mr. Lucas and Kimberley nodded.

“Two. No one else comes into this room except Dr. Anemi and his two nurses. You clear them with me, Lucas. I don’t care if the CEO of the hospital shows up. They don’t get past you.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Lucas said.

“Three,” Diego looked at Kimberley. “You’re the only contact with the company. You tell the board Ms. Crawford is resting on doctor’s orders and unavailable for comment. Stall. Delay. Docket procedures, legal review, anything. Buy us seventy-two hours.”

Kimberley’s eyes flickered. She was scared. But under it was steel. “I can do that.”

“Four.” Diego’s voice dropped. “We find the rebel. Someone told them. We figure out who, and we cut them off before they do more damage.”

The three of them stood there. A best friend, a guard, and a secretary. That was Hillary’s whole army right now.

Diego walked back to the bed. He took Hillary’s hand again.

“You heard that, Hillary?” he murmured. “We’re not letting them take it. You just have to wake up and fire us all later for being in your business.”

He stared at her as though he expected her fingers to tighten around his at any moment.

Mr. Lucas moved to the door, positioning himself where he could see the hallway through the small window. “I’ll start a shift log. No one in or out without ID and my approval.”

Kimberley pulled out her phone, already typing. “I’ll send a memo to the board now. Cite confidentiality and health privacy laws. That should hold them until morning.”

Diego didn’t look away from Hillary. “Good.”

The city outside was very alive and unconcerned. None of them knew Crawford F&B’s president was fighting for her life in Room 312 and that the war for her company had already started.