Chapter 65

Dr. Marz was enjoying the sweet, humid air of his temporary luxury suite, a space purchased with his latest tranche of extorted funds. He lounged in a crisp robe while scrolling through digital newspapers. The front pages were a gratifying panorama of chaos at the Niran Kai Medical Center. Emilio, his weak-willed accomplice, had assured him everything was under control, but Marz did not care for details. He was polishing a flowery letter of resignation and anticipating a new life funded by blackmail.

The Evelyn affair had been his masterpiece. He had no intention of burying it. On the contrary, he planned to resurrect it, sharpen it, and use it to carve into Williams’ reputation. With the sheer volume of unethical information he possessed, he knew she had more to lose. If he packaged his knowledge as a good-faith confession about Williams’s systematic professional misconduct, he could destroy her hospital while sailing into retirement.

He imagined himself far from this place, sipping wine under another identity. Rich. Free. Untouchable.

Unfortunately for him, Marz was blissfully unaware that the silence outside his reinforced hotel door was not peaceful at all. It was artificial, a vacuum manufactured by corruption and efficiency. Makizal’s men, operatives of unmatched discretion, were already moving up the stairwell. His actual residence had been emptied for evidence, his office sanitized, and his offshore accounts traced to the last coin. The doctors who had cooperated with him, as well as the victims he had exploited, had been discreetly paid. Their silence was now sealed. A rumor without evidence is nothing but wind, and Makizal intended for Marz to become vapor.

Poor, greedy Marz. He lifted a piece of freshly grilled Wagyu beef to his mouth, savoring its rich flavor, when the world dissolved in a violent roar.

The door buckled and exploded inward. Brass, debris, and fragments of the digital lock were scattered across the polished marble. Marz bolted on instinct, but the room had already filled with silent, dark figures. He was quickly seized and dragged away from the window.

Makizal, who had traveled specifically for this final execution, wasted no time on pleasantries. His large fist connected with the doctor’s jaw before Marz could even register the faces around him. The blows were sharp, rhythmic, and devastating, fueled by a deep, visceral hatred that even his closest associates found unsettling. Hotel cameras had been disabled minutes earlier through a discreet transfer of funds to the night manager, who later had no recollection of anything suspicious. Makizal tolerated no risk of failure.

He beat Marz until the doctor’s robe was soaked with blood and his face was a shapeless mass of agony. Only when Marz lay shuddering on the floor did Makizal take a clean armchair and sit down with calm authority.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Makizal said, his voice quiet and almost bored.

Marz gasped for air, his thoughts collapsing into a single plea. “Please, spare me.” In his mind, he was now one of his own blackmailed clients, begging his tormentor for mercy.

“Tidy up,” Makizal instructed his men, who immediately began a meticulous sweep of the room, collecting documents and digital devices. To Marz, he added, “Sit up. We only need to talk.”

Then, with deliberate precision, Makizal crushed the doctor’s phone beneath his heel. Marz understood. There was no return from this moment. Trembling violently, he dragged himself into a seated position.

Makizal removed an elegant knife from his coat and placed it on the table beside him with surgical care.

“For every question,” he said, “a correct answer. In the worst case…” His silence tightened the air.

“No. Please, you do not need to do that,” Marz begged, drooling blood. “I can pay you. Tell me the price. Who sent you? We can work together.”

Makizal ignored the predictable desperation. Marz was a corrupt doctor, not a hardened criminal. Within minutes, he was weeping, confessing every detail of his extortions. To Makizal’s astonishment, Marz had not only blackmailed doctors but also their victims, the women who had strayed or succumbed to a moment of weakness, the terrified patients who would do anything to protect their privacy.

Makizal listened with growing disgust. This man had lived off the suffering of others.

As Marz continued, he revealed names, dates, transactions, and evidence far more extensive than anything Polo, Emilio, or the hospital possessed. Once the data was secured and transferred to the intelligence team, Makizal had everything he needed. He glanced at one of his guards and made a small, chilling hand gesture.

Marz watched, shivering and confused. “What are you doing?”

Makizal spoke gently. “You are going to die, Doctor.”

“No. Please,” Marz cried. “I will leave. I will disappear. Nobody will ever know.”

His begging was ignored.

A syringe pierced his neck. Darkness claimed him instantly as the chemical compound shut down his consciousness.

The men cleaned his body and positioned him beside a faulty power outlet. They attached a copper wire that would carry raw current into his flesh. The body began to sizzle. The short circuit erupted, igniting the curtains and turning the room into a controlled, contained blaze.

Makizal took one last look at the burning figure that had once been Dr. Marz.

Justice delivered.

He walked out calmly, nodding to the receptionist, who had already been paid through a generous charity donation that soothed her conscience. He exited the building before the fire alarms even began to ring.

By the time the fire brigade arrived, Dr. Marz was no longer part of this world, and the world was cleaner for it.

Meanwhile, Williams managed to change her dressing carefully, her jaw clenched against the throbbing pain. She fed herself with cold fruit from the refrigerator, refusing even to glance at the warm meal Evelyn had prepared earlier. Her pride was a thin shield, cracking under the weight of her physical limitations. Her right hand remained useless, and she could no longer feel her fingers. The bullet injury had likely caused nerve damage. The reality of her sudden dependence was a bitter truth.

As she tried to steady herself, she heard a faint vibration. It was Evelyn’s phone, hidden in a locked drawer. She retrieved the key and opened it, revealing the small device. The screen lit up with repeated missed calls and messages from Yada, filled with concern. Williams began scrolling through the photo gallery. She found pictures of Evelyn smiling among children at her orphanage and short videos of playtime.

The more she scrolled, the more she couldn’t stop. Evelyn looked genuinely happy in those images, a joy completely absent from the defiant prisoner in the next room. Williams studied the details: the curl of Evelyn’s hair, the soft lines near her eyes when she smiled, the shape of her lips, the brightness of her gaze, and the elegant curve of her neck.

A sudden, sharp jolt of self-awareness struck Williams. She was fixating on Evelyn’s physical features. Disgusted by her own reaction, she slammed her thumb against the back button, exiting the gallery. The calendar came into view, displaying the date.

It was Monday. The day Evelyn was supposed to give her final answer about the child.

Pressure rose in Williams’s chest.

She messaged Makizal briefly, asking for updates on the Mayeurs. Then she rushed toward the shower, desperate for heat and cleansing. Before she could turn on the tap, her phone began ringing insistently. It was Makizal.

She rushed back and answered sharply. “I told you not to call.”

“My apologies, Madam. You asked about the Mayeurs.”

She grew still. “Yes?”

“They moved out. They left the day after our visit.”

Williams remained motionless. “Did they flee?”

“That is a good sign, Madam.”

“Why?”

“Because we will never hear about Marz again. It is over.”

The words were final. Marz was gone, and the Mayeurs’ flight removed the original adoption plan. But the baby was still Evelyn’s leverage, and Williams now held the advantage.

Relief brushed her spine. Something darker followed. Emilio was not a continuing threat; he was a loose end.

“Do nothing to Emilio,” she said. “I will tell you what happens next with the Mayeurs.” She ended the call.

She adjusted her pajama top and walked, limping slightly, toward Evelyn’s locked room. She unlocked the door.

Evelyn sat curled on the bed, weak from hunger and exhaustion. When she saw Williams, she pushed herself upright, eyes wide and glassy.

Williams observed her quietly.

“It is Monday,” she said in a steady tone. “What is your answer?”

Evelyn swallowed. Her voice trembled. “It depends on the Mayeurs, and you locked me here, so…”

“The Mayeurs have left the city.”

Evelyn froze. “What?”

“They left everything behind and chose to disappear.”

“You are lying.” Her voice fractured.

Williams lifted her brows slightly, almost hurt. “You may check for yourself.” She opened the door wide. “If you confirm it, you will have the abortion as planned.”

Evelyn saw the open door but did not run. Instead, she clutched her stomach as tears streamed down her face. “You threatened them,” she cried. “How could you do that?”

Williams pulled up a chair with her functioning arm. Her voice softened. “You never intended to abort, right? It was obvious.”

Evelyn looked away, guilty and wounded.

“We find every kind of child in orphanages,” Williams continued. “One is abandoned; another finds a foster family. How could you, who fights for life, destroy one?”

Evelyn said nothing. Williams’s words were true. For Evelyn, life in every form was sacred. She could not destroy it.

“What would you have done if the Mayeurs refused to take the baby ones you gave birth to?” Williams asked. “Would you give the child up or raise it yourself?”

“No matter the choice, this child will live,” Evelyn whispered.

“So, you planned to keep it,” Williams said with certainty.

Evelyn did not respond. She seemed frozen.

Williams rose and stepped toward the door.

“Please,” Evelyn pleaded, her voice cracking, “do not force me to abort.”

Williams turned. “At the orphanage, before you give a child to a family, you make sure they deserve it, correct?”

Evelyn lifted her head. “What do you mean?”

Williams’s eyes were calm and cold.

“Let’s make a deal,” she turned, “I will make sure you deserve it. I will give you conditions. If you complete them, you will be free. And I will hand you to the Mayeurs, if that is what you want.”

“Yes, I will,” Evelyn whispered. “Tell me what to do.”

Williams watched her with a predatory gleam. “Dress properly. I will wait for you in my room.”

She left the door wide open as she walked away. A faint smile touched her lips. She did nothing without gaining something. Evelyn was now a tool.

Evelyn remained trembling. Confusion swirled in her chest. She feared Williams, but something in her still gravitated toward her.

Back in her room, Williams called Makizal.

“Yes, Madam.”

“Find the video she possesses. I want everything about her. Once I leave here, you will make her disappear completely.”

If Marz had been erased, Evelyn would also have to vanish. No one could survive after witnessing Williams’s weakness. For now, Evelyn would serve as a personal assistant, a temporary necessity.

Williams ended the call at the sound of the door sliding open.

“Williams, I am here.”

Evelyn stood in the doorway, wearing a simple borrowed cotton gown. Her submission was complete.

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