Chapter 59

The city was barely stirring when Makizal delivered his morning report. “Madam, we located Dr. Marz. He’s on a private island, playing the oblivious tourist.” Since the beginning of the case, Makizal had played a calculated long game, observing Marz’s maneuvers without engagement and ensuring he only moved to corner him after every piece of damaging evidence was silenced.

Williams was already up. Dressed in a razor-sharp, custom-tailored suit that looked like polished steel, her focus was singular: the media day. She hadn’t seen Evelyn since their last exchange. But it was she who had taken Evelyn’s phone, sent the message to Yada, then tossed the device back into the drawer like a used tissue.

She settled herself in the back of her luxury vehicle, Makizal at the wheel, Ultra and Gamma flanking the convoy. The atmosphere inside the car held a cold, unassailable power.

They arrived at the Niran Kai Medical Centre to find a frenzy. Inside, the hospital gleamed under the anxious, expectant gaze of staff. Williams’s ascent through the immaculate corridors was a silent, regal procession.

She proceeded to her private wing to exchange her suit jacket for her crisp white lab coat, but a disruption awaited.

Yada.

She was blocking the entrance of Williams’s private wing with a wrath that could slice steel. Makizal intercepted her instantly. “Easy, young lady.” He let Williams glide past. Williams pointedly ignored Yada, the sharp, exotic scent of her expensive perfume lingering like an insult as she vanished through the inner door. Malaya, who had been placing documents on a nearby desk, quickly retreated into the shadows, panic blooming in her eyes.

Williams let the clock tick for a punishing few minutes, allowing Yada’s indignation to boil, before instructing Malaya to admit her.

Yada stormed in, her composure fracturing. “So, this is how you operate?”

“Good morning, Miss Yada,” Williams said, her voice smooth and unhurried as she sat. “Please, have a seat.”

“Why did you do that?”

Williams exhaled softly and already looked tired of the conversation. “What are you talking about?”

“Evelyn. You threatened her.” Yada placed her phone on the desk. The message glowed between them like a blade. “She terminated my services. According to this message, she was supposed to show up and settle everything.”

Williams leaned back slowly. “If you have a legal problem, contact the hospital’s legal department, or Malaya can escort you. As for me, I still fail to understand how I could help you, unless you have a health issue.” She offered a slow, predatory smile.

Makizal slipped into the office like a shadow waiting for an order, while Malaya stood near the door, immobilized by fear.

Yada stared at the flawless, cold perfection of the woman before her, forcing herself to reel in her temper. “Fine. Your legal department, please.”

Williams gestured dismissively toward Malaya.

“Please follow me, Madam,” Malaya whispered, guiding Yada toward the exit. At the door, Yada paused and looked back at Williams, her eyes sharp with promise. “You haven’t heard the last of me.”

The moment the door closed, Makizal stepped forward. “Madam, would you like me to take care of her?”

“No, no,” Williams said, her smile widening into genuine amusement. “Let her do her job. She is a lawyer. It’s between her and her client.”

Makizal smirked and left. Williams remained unshaken.

Yada walked alongside Malaya, her internal pressure visibly high. They were supposed to be heading toward Polo’s office, the designated meeting point for legal inquiries. The silence was brittle.

Suddenly, as they navigated a quieter corridor — a route Malaya knew was outside the direct line of Williams’s security cameras and most guards — she grabbed Yada’s arm, her grip desperate and surprisingly strong.

“Are you looking for Evelyn?” Malaya whispered urgently.

Yada turned, her irritation instantly dissolving into alarm at Malaya’s raw panic. “Yes. She’s unreachable. Something is wrong. She wouldn’t cut contact with me this way.” She locked eyes with the terrified woman. “Listen to me, I am a lawyer, but more importantly, I am a human being. You can trust me. If there is something you know, please, you have to help me.”

Malaya was rigid with fear. She was bound by Beta’s threat, terrified for her family, yet the image of Emilio, bruised and shackled, burned in her mind.

“Malaya, trust me.” Yada squeezed her arm again.

The gamble was too great to ignore. Malaya took the risk. In a hurried, panicked rush, she confessed everything: Emilio’s actions, Williams’s monstrous reprisal, Makizal’s visit, and the devastating threat hanging over her family in Syria. She fought back, hiccupping sobs as the words tumbled out.

Yada listened, her face hardening into cold resolve. “Calm down. Thank you for trusting me. Now take me to Polo’s office and behave normally. I will see you soon.”

“No, please, you can’t inform the police,” Malaya pleaded, recounting the impossibility of challenging Williams’s guards and the danger to her family.

Before Malaya could finish, a heavy-set security guard rounded the corner.

Yada acted instantly. She deliberately dropped the porcelain cup of coffee she was holding. It shattered loudly, hot liquid spreading across the sterile floor.

She erupted in a blistering, theatrical shout. “Where is your head?! This is unbelievable!”

The guard rushed toward the commotion. Malaya hastened to apologize. “Please, Madam, I am so sorry…”

Yada moved closer, ostensibly to help handle the chaos, and quickly whispered to Malaya, “Trust me.” She then began grumbling and insulting Malaya loudly. “Get away from me, you fool!” She snapped at the guard, “Do you know the location of the legal department?”

The guard nodded, relieved. He immediately took the path with her, leaving a visibly distraught Malaya behind. Yada, a lawyer well trained in crisis theatrics, now had a secure escort toward her new objective. She already had a plan.

At the same time, Williams, radiating confidence, entered the main conference room with her colleagues. Applause from the audience of journalists rose in a soft, professional roar. The legal team was already stationed by the dais. Some members of the young boy’s family were present. Cameras were aimed. Every breath in the room felt like a countdown.

Journalists jostled for position, their energy buzzing with the promise of a breaking story. Mr. Richardson stood at the front, his face grave with exhaustion and gratitude.

Among the journalists stood Oswald.

The man who had lost everything because of her.
The man who had nothing left to protect.
Not even his sanity.

“First of all, thank you,” Richardson began, recounting the events: the accident, the grim prognoses, the loss of his wife, and the risk he took by putting his faith in local talent. His voice thickened with emotion. “Many told me my son wouldn’t survive. But I chose to trust Dr. Williams.” He reiterated his admiration for the entire medical team before yielding the floor to Williams.

Williams took over, the cameras instantly focusing on her. Professional and poised, she thanked the father for his trust, then the doctors, inviting each to introduce themselves and share their medical appreciation for the successful intervention.

The floodgates opened. Questions erupted from every direction.

The first journalist asked Richardson about the astronomical cost of the procedure. He replied simply, “Life is priceless.”

The next question concerned whether the child would regain full integrity, given the severity of the injuries. A specialist assured them that with intensive rehabilitation, recovery was possible.

Then, through the cacophony, a figure pushed forward. Oswald. He held a small, antiquated microphone, his eyes burning with a singular, insane hatred.

“This question is for Dr. Williams,” he announced.

Williams looked at him, her smile indulgent.

“Dr. Williams,” Oswald’s voice was strained, high with emotion. “How comes that all the public reports about you are favorable?”

Williams tilted her head, confused by the shift in tone. “I am a little confused by your question.”

“I’m talking about the fact that every public profile, every article, every single review about you is always positive. Always perfect.”

A ripple of surprise went through the room, but Williams smiled, a condescending gesture. “If that’s the case, it’s a good sign, and I hope the same is true for my colleagues. But your question has nothing to do with why we are all here.”

“It’s important that people remember this day,” Oswald replied, his voice cracking. “Because I am the journalist Oswald, formerly of TM Magazine. I wrote an article about you. After that, I was fired because of you. I lost everything. I am not the only person you have destroyed.”

Williams stared, genuinely not recognizing the desperate, ruined man. She signaled Makizal with a curt glance. He instantly alerted the plainclothes security guards positioned at the back.

As Oswald began to scream, “This is how you silence people!” the guards lunged, thinking he was simply a disgruntled former employee.

Grabbed from both sides, Oswald fought with a manic, final strength. He ripped the weapon from its concealment beneath his coat, aimed at point-blank range, and fired twice.

The bullet pierced Williams’s flesh.

Her body jerked.

Blood spat out, a fine red mist against the white lab coat. Williams’s perfect composure was shattered. She looked down at the blossoming stain, her eyes wide with shock, before collapsing heavily to the polished floor.

Makizal stared, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Williams!” he screamed.

Chaos erupted.

Screams. Cameras dropped. People dove for cover.

The empire she had built with fear and precision shattered in a single heartbeat.

The conference room dissolved into terror.

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