Then a shrill, continuous tone cut through the air from inside the operating room.
My breath stopped. I forced myself back inside.
The line on the heart monitor had gone flat.
Her hand was stiffening in mine. No new fog appeared in the oxygen mask.
Her eyes were wide open. A single tear sat at the corner of one.
I had no strength left. My hands shook as I closed her eyes.
My brain nearly shut down.
On autopilot, I texted my assistant.
I need all the hospital surveillance footage from this morning.
Then I opened the voice recorder on my phone.
I forced myself to follow the crowd toward that room.
Tracey was sitting up in bed, surrounded by a swarm of doctors.
And Thomas was kneeling beside her, cradling her foot, rubbing ointment onto her ankle.
What a joke.
The great Thomas Gilbert, who couldn't even be bothered to hold his own daughter once.
Now those hands, the ones that commanded empires, were cradling Tracey Harding's foot.
He saw me and the corner of his mouth curled up.
"Vivienne. This is what happens when you go against me."
"Don't worry. Once Tracey's ankle heals, I'll send the lead surgeon over."
The doctor beside him jumped in, practically falling over himself to please.