Chapter 46

Thursday – 19th | 6:00 AM

Makizal moved through Williams’ home like a shadow. He began the systemic disinfection of Williams’ estate with the cold precision of a smooth killer. The staff, from the kitchen maids to the senior security agents, were immediately ushered into the conservatory’s silent holding area. Makizal personally supervised the filtering process, his eyes sharp and judgmental. He didn’t ask; he commanded. Phones, tablets, and any electronic devices were handed over, inspected for data transfer or remote access, then locked away. The fortress was being swept for vulnerabilities, starting from the inside out.

The four men who had arrived with him fanned out without a word. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Ultra.
A strategist, an IT phantom, a spy, and brute force incarnate.
Behind them, more agents melted into the background like ghosts.

They moved with a quiet, lethal efficiency that belied their elegant black suits. Alpha, the sharp strategist, approached Makizal for final orders.

“Alpha,” Makizal murmured into the sterile silence. “At the hospital, I want discretion. Everything we have done here; we will do there. And if Romaric appears, do not engage. Sequester him and search his house thoroughly.” Makizal’s eyes hardened, calculating his next move. “Also, deploy Gamma immediately to the psychiatrist’s residence. Search her private house, her office, everything that concerns Williams, directly or indirectly. I want it.” He leaned closer, his voice sinking to a dangerous whisper. “Keep her safe. But make sure that whatever concerns Dr. Williams must disappear. I want all the files in her office sealed. Even if she lost a hair there, bring it back to me.”

“Understood,” Alpha replied, his tone devoid of emotion.

“Now, move out. The clock is running.”

Makizal was charismatic in a terrifying way. His quiet command was an iron fist wrapped in velvet.

It was exactly six o’clock in the morning. The Niran Kai Medical Center was transitioning from the quiet night shift to the frenetic day shift. Malaya was in her office, finalizing files, anticipating Williams’ arrival.

The door burst open without a warning knock. Rosa’s face was pale and tight with unease.

“Malaya, this is weird,” Rosa whispered, the urgency in her voice vibrating the air.

“What?” Malaya asked, looking up from her desk.

“I saw Mr. Polo with an individual. They were talking near the service elevator. Polo’s face was almost petrified.”

Malaya stiffened. Rosa’s anxiety fed a suspicion already forming in her mind. Maybe Williams had sent someone to warn Polo. She pretended not to care and returned to her task.

But then she saw it.

Through the glass corridor: Polo entering Williams’ office, followed by an unfamiliar man. He sat down, and the individual stepped out, closing the heavy glass door firmly and planting himself in front of it like a statue carved from granite.

Curiosity winning over caution, Malaya grabbed a random document. She feigned heading to Williams’ office to drop off the file. When she reached the door, the guard blocked her path, not with his body but with an unblinking, hostile stare.

“Where are you going?” The individual’s voice was low, flat, and devoid of warmth.

“To Madam’s office, to drop off this document,” Malaya said, trying to steady her breathing.

“Give it to me.”

“It’s confidential.” Malaya attempted to pull the paper closer, but before she could finish, his hand shot out and snatched the document with blinding speed.

“Hey, mister!”

He gave her a chilling, predatory look. “I am here on behalf of Williams. Get out of here right now.” The cold malice in his voice sent a wave of genuine fear through her.

Malaya retreated, her mind scrambling. Why was Polo locked in? Was this an emergency protocol or something far worse?

Back in her office, she froze when she heard:

“Malaya.”

Emilio.

For a moment, she thought he knew.
But he didn’t. His expression was soft and sad. He gestured for Rosa to leave them alone.

Only then did Malaya notice a nurse across the hall watching them too closely. The scrub top was too stiff, the way the person stood too rigid. She chose to ignore the growing dread.

“Yes?” Malaya asked.

“I need you to give this to Williams.” He handed her an envelope. It was his letter of resignation.

Malaya was stunned. “Did Williams tell you to do this?”

Emilio smiled sadly. “No. In fact, I was already planning to. The mistake… Polo knows about it. I told him. And he suggested not telling Williams anything.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, simply because Niran Kai is too important to be ruined because of one person’s mistake, and he wants to protect Williams, her mother, and everyone who makes a living from this place.”

Malaya gripped the letter. Polo knows. Had she, in trying to expose Emilio, kicked over a hornet’s nest of institutional cover-up?

“And Malaya,” Emilio added, his eyes softening. “You asked me if you were on the list. I wanted you to know that you’re important to me. You are a good friend, and I value you greatly. I don’t really have any friends. This hospital is where my father worked. He also died here. I regret so much having lost my mind.” His voice was heavy.

“Emilio, I…”

But she didn’t get to finish.

The nurse, who turned out to be a disguised agent, appeared at the door.

“Mr. Emilio Wallace?”

“Yes?” he replied cautiously.

“Follow me.” The man extended his hand toward Malaya for the envelope.

“What is this about?” Emilio asked.

“You will know when Madam Williams arrives.”

The tone wasn’t threatening. It was simply unarguable.

Emilio hesitated, then followed him to the main office.

A few minutes later, Rosa returned. Then the nurse reappeared. “As for you two, under no circumstances are you to leave here.”

“Rosa, what is happening?” Malaya’s voice was barely a whisper.

“No idea. I have the impression that the hospital is filled with secret agents.”

She wasn’t exaggerating.

Williams’ block felt sealed, insulated from the rest of the world.

And Malaya felt her guilt constrict around her throat.

| 7:00 AM

A hush fell over the administrative wing.

Williams arrived, more graceful than ever, dressed entirely in black cashmere and silk, the color highlighting the stark white of her lab coat, which she carried folded over her arm. She moved like a blade being drawn. Malaya searched, but Romaric was nowhere. In his place was Makizal, his new guard, radiating a cold, severe aura. Two other figures, Beta and Ultra, trailed them.

Makizal, catching Malaya’s gaze, adjusted his jacket and offered a brief, handsome smile. The gesture was so sinister and out of place that it sent a tremor of deep alarm through Malaya.

Williams did not acknowledge the fear she had instilled. She entered the office, where Emilio and Polo were seated, visibly panicking, a guard watching their every move. Williams did not speak to them. She merely hung her folded lab coat on the back of her chair, adjusted her cuffs, and walked out. She had a patient to see.

Makizal followed, murmuring into his earpiece. A moment later, a different operative opened Malaya’s office door.

“Malaya Montira, is that you?”

“Me? Yes, it is me.”

“Dr. Williams is waiting for you in the Pediatric ICU treatment room. Present yourself with the Richardson file.”

Malaya jumped. The patient was Mr. Richardson’s son, the focus of the media storm. She quickly retrieved the correct archive file, but before leaving, she was ordered to hand over her phone. With a heavy heart, she relinquished it.

Walking through the hospital felt like pushing through a maze of disguises. The usual smell of antiseptic and coffee was replaced by a sharper, metallic scent. She saw unfamiliar, overly polished faces in crisp uniforms, too many eyes watching.

Finally, she arrived at the protected patient’s room, where Mr. Richardson stood vigil beside the equipment, speaking quietly to a seasoned nurse.

“Doctor,” Mr. Richardson said, extending his hand to greet her.

Williams took it, her posture calm and composed. “Mr. Richardson,” she said warmly, “I know you’ve been trying to reach me. I apologize for the delay. I’ve been prioritizing your son’s case.”

She nodded toward the boy in the bed, pale, wrapped in wires and silent machines. His chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of an induced coma.

Mr. Richardson’s expression softened instantly. “Thank you… I lost my wife in the crash. He’s all I have left.” The discomfort of being stonewalled dissolved in the face of her sincere, focused attention.

“I’m aware,” Williams replied gently. “And I intend to bring him back to you safely.”

Malaya stood at the doorway, unable to move. Williams’ serenity, in the middle of this storm, was terrifying.

Williams released his hand, her expression shifting instantly to clinical focus. She gestured her hands to Malaya, who handed her the files with a pen. Then she approached the bedside, her eyes immediately scanning the array of complex monitoring equipment.

“Give me the full neuro-status update. Verbalize the numbers,” she ordered, nothing inconsistent.

The nurse, a stoic woman with tired eyes, immediately switched to professional cadence. “GCS remains fixed at 3T, Doctor. We are maintaining a pharmacologically induced coma using Propofol and Midazolam infusion for ICP management.”

“What is the current intracranial pressure, and what are our most recent CPP readings?” Williams asked, her gaze sweeping the invasive monitors above the child’s head.

“ICP is stable at 12 mmHg, maintaining the target range of 10 to 15. The Cerebral Perfusion Pressure is holding at 65 mmHg, which is above our goal threshold of 60. We’ve had no spikes or refractory hypertension in the last three hours.”

Williams nodded, approving the stability. “Ventilator settings. Tidal volume and PEEP?”

“Tidal volume is 6 cc per kilo. PEEP is at 5. FiO2 at 40 percent, maintaining SpO2 saturation at 98. He’s hyperventilating slightly to keep the pCO2 at 35.”

“Good. Maintain the light hyperventilation to ensure minimal cerebral edema. Have we seen any change in pupillary reaction since midnight? Even a flicker.”

“None, Doctor. Pupils remain sluggish, mid-range, and fixed.”

Williams gently touched the boy’s forehead, a rare, tender gesture. “We hold the course. Keep the temperature strictly controlled and watch for any signs of seizure activity or breakthrough pain, even within the coma. If the ICP rises above 18, notify me immediately, regardless of where I am. We are fighting for brain tissue now.”

“Understood, Doctor.”

Williams turned back to Mr. Richardson, her demeanor softening once more. “He is resting. We are managing his brain’s environment perfectly to give him the greatest chance. We hold the line, Mr. Richardson.”

“Thank you so much,” he said.

She then returned to her office, Malaya quickly following. The time had come for the confrontation between her, Emilio, and Polo.

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