Chapter 41

Williams was back in her executive office, and the silence was not peaceful; it was a vacuum of sound, heavy and anticipatory. Williams sat perfectly still, holding a sterile, ivory envelope. The paper was cool and slightly stiff in her hand. She broke the seal with a slow, deliberate movement, the sound a faint, brittle tear in the expensive quiet.

Inside, the results confirmed the worst, stated in the dry, undeniable language of toxicology: positive. A foreign substance designed to induce disorientation and temporary paralysis had been absorbed into her body through her alimentary canal. The timeline matched; Adeline had drugged her.

Williams did not gasp, flinch, or rage. She absorbed the data, closed the envelope, and reached for her phone. Her thumb hovered only a second before she dialed the private number. As the line connected, the door to her office burst open without a warning knock.

“Madam, they are here.” Malaya’s voice was rushed and apologetic.

Williams’ eyes flashed before she instantly disconnected the call and placed the phone silently on the desk. “Understood,” she replied, her tone calm and clipped, in full control again.

The office, normally a fortress of privacy, was immediately invaded by a chosen horde of journalists, their cameras and lights creating an artificial, blinding heat.

“Madam, we are delighted by the opportunity to speak with you two days before the child is brought out of the artificial coma,” the lead correspondent began, his voice practiced and smooth. “Could you tell us if this has been difficult, and what the public should expect?”

Williams paused, letting the silence settle. She always let silence work for her.

Then she spoke with a clarity that felt almost mechanical.

“First of all, there is no easy surgery.” Her voice was a low, uninflected machine monotone, every syllable perfectly calibrated to convey competence, not emotion. “When the child arrived at our facility, his condition was extremely delicate but stable thanks to the intervening paramedics. As for the operation, I can confirm that we have had no complications. I will say more in two days. The child was placed under an artificial coma due to the heaviness of the interventions; a decision made in consensus with all qualified surgeons. Should the child wake fully, we will confirm a complete success.”

“Dr. Williams,” another journalist pushed, “what is the emotional state of the parents?”

Williams paused, her eyes like chips of blue ice. “I prefer that question to be addressed to them. Nevertheless, they know their child is in good hands.”

Malaya watched from the periphery, impressed and unnerved. She recalled the speech Williams had written for her to deliver at the gala, a complex piece of rhetoric. Yet, when Williams spoke spontaneously, there was no script, only perfectly synthesized action.

What chilled Malaya was her own mission. Though she spoke of being flattered by her colossal salary to Rosa, she was ready to sacrifice everything. Yes, she was about to hand Williams the evidence that would unmask Emilio: the recording, the falsified documents, the confession drafts and the secret pieces she gathered on her own with the help of a new friend at the therapy group sessions. She dreaded Williams’ reaction, yet felt a fierce loyalty to protect the hospital’s female staff from the cancer eating it from within.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” the correspondent concluded, his voice fading as the lights snapped off.

Malaya was startled back to reality, hustling the journalists out. Williams, alone again, retrieved her phone and dialed the private number.

“Hello,” a female voice answered.

“Tomorrow morning, very early,” Williams commanded.

“Understood.”

She hung up, her face utterly devoid of expression, and began to prepare for the obligatory family dinner. Romaric, entering to escort her, noted two things that pierced his professional calm: she never mentioned the drugging, and she never mentioned Evelyn’s case. Williams was silent, and that silence was a far greater threat than any shout.

While Williams maintained her lethal control, Kannika was drowning in the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the Justice Department. The air smelled of old paper, dust, and the metallic tang of deferred hope.

Kannika walked with Pako, her colleague, another secret agent. “Kannika, I’m very sorry for your case. I really tried, but you know, your profile isn’t…”

“I know,” Kannika retorted, her voice brittle. 

“The best you can do is find someone relatively stable enough to sweeten the profile. Then maybe, in a later stage, you could…”

“When will that later ever be, Pako? We are on this journey forever!” Her bitterness was sharp and unmasked.

“But you knew what you were going in for.”

Kannika turned, her eyes dark. “I knew. But I never knew my mother would die this fast.”

“I’m sorry, Kannika. Listen, we will talk about it later, okay? I have to go.” Pako stared anxiously at his phone and left.

Kannika stood there, isolated, watching the documents. A soft shadow appeared beside her.

“Do you have issues?”

She whirled around. It was Yada, standing with a soft, sweet smile that looked utterly foreign in the harsh, fluorescent lighting. “Oh, what are you doing here?” Kannika stammered, scanning the corridor. “Well,” she whispered, realizing the location, “I’m a lawyer. I thought I’d check on a client’s case here.” her voice laced with sarcasm.

“Oh.” Kannika was so distracted by her personal grief that she could barely focus. “Sorry, I… I… well, good to see you.”

“You seem bothered.”

“Oh no, it’s okay. Excuse me.” Kannika picked up her phone, quickly checking a message as she walked out. Yada watched her go with an expression of gentle concern. Yada then placed a document on a table. “Could I see Judge Gayle?”

The clerk checked his ledger. “Sorry, he is not available.”

“But he said I should come.”

“He had an unexpected change of schedule.”

Yada exhaled slowly. “I see.”

She left the counter, stepping outside into the night air, just in time to see Kannika standing near the entrance, staring at her phone.

“Are you walking home?” Yada asked.

Kannika looked up. “Well, it’s late. I guess I should.”

“I’m heading home too,” Yada said, pointing to her car. “If you need a ride…”

“Oh, no. A friend is picking me up.”

A moment later, a banged-up, loud taxi skidded to a stop in front of them. The driver, Rouffie, stuck his head out. “Yo Sorry, I was in a damn traffic!” He caught sight of Yada and Kannika then paused.

Kannika hurried to make introductions. “My friend Jack. Jack, this is Yada, a lawyer.”

Rouffie smiled, making exaggerated gestures to Kannika while she kept talking to Yada. “Jack is a taxi driver. Sometimes he picks me up. Well, thanks for proposing the ride, maybe next time.”

“Hum,” Yada nodded. After briefly staring at Kannika and the taxi driver, she added, “Hello, Rouffie.”

“Sis!” Rouffie interjected.

Kannika was stunned. “Do you…”

Rouffie laughed. “That’s my little sister, Kannika.”

“Oh.” Kannika turned to Yada, suddenly embarrassed that she had introduced a secret agent with the codename Jack to his own sister. Rouffie had to help her as an informant for the case she was actually struggling with, so he had to be as discreet as possible, which was why he appeared with the taxi as a cover.

“I… mean, I…” Kannika stammered.

Yada only laughed softly. “It’s fine. See you later, Kannika.” Then she waved a hand at her brother.

“That’s your sister?” Kannika demanded, annoyed as she entered the car. “You never told me you had one.”

“We never talk about our private lives,” Rouffie retorted, pulling into traffic. 

“What is this dirty car you took?”

“Well, today our IT specialist will be at a club. I have a good idea waiting for him.”

As they drove, Kannika stared at Rouffie. “Are you all in justice in your family?”

Rouffie smiled. “Well, my sister is a lawyer, I’m a cop, my father was a cop, my mom was a secret agent.”

“Enough. I got it. But if you choose your dad, then your sister had to be a secret agent like your mom.”

“Oh, she could, but she hates violence. She prefers defending causes. Is she your lawyer?”

“No,” Kannika replied swiftly. Then she added, “And do you all live together?”

“Why the sudden questions?” he teased.

“No reason. Just asking.”

“Hum.” After a moment he added, “Well, she lives alone, if that’s what you’re wondering, and she loves women, especially cops.”

Kannika stared at him and gestured uncomfortably. Ignoring his teasing, she turned toward the window. “Walk by my home first. I need to keep a document,” referring to the one she was holding.

Rouffie nodded.

As the city lights passed outside, Kannika found her thoughts drifting back to Yada. She was embarrassed but felt something particular about Yada. She was calm, virtuous, and collected. She hadn’t forgotten how Yada had acted in Williams’s presence, never allowing the intimidation to touch her; she was soft, yet perfectly composed. Kannika wondered. if Yada was Evelyn’s lawyer, did she know Evelyn’s real identity, and could she possibly help?

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