Chapter 2 - WAKING UP ALIVE
The world returned in fragments.
First came the sound: a rhythmic, mechanical hiss of a respirator, followed by the electronic chiming of telemetry monitors.
Then came the physical sensation: a massive, dull throbbing behind my left ear, a dry, sandpaper texture in my mouth, and the heavy weight of heavy bandages wrapped tightly around my shaved head.
I opened my eyes.
The bright fluorescent lighting blinded me for a second before my vision focused. I was in the Intensive Care Unit. The sky outside the high window was painted in deep hues of orange and purple. Dusk was falling over Chicago.
A figure stepped into my line of sight. Dr. Mercer was pulling off his surgical gloves, a weary but profound smile on his face.
“Camila?” he asked softly, shining a small penlight into my pupils. “Can you hear me? Can you wiggle your toes?”
I moved my feet under the blanket. I squeezed my fingers.
“It... went... okay?” my voice was barely a rasp.
Dr. Mercer let out a light laugh. “Better than okay, Camila. It went brilliantly. We achieved a complete resection of the tumor. No damage to the facial nerve, no brainstem compromise. You’re going to make a full recovery.”
Tears instantly surged past my eyelashes, tracking warm lines down my cheeks and soaking into the bandage behind my ears.
I was alive.
The dark abyss had opened its mouth, and I had walked right back out of it.
And as the pain medication throbbed in rhythm with my heartbeat, the fog of anesthesia cleared completely, leaving behind a cold, absolute mental clarity.
Every single word Alejandro had said seven hours ago flared in my mind with blinding intensity.
“Sign before they open up your skull.” “Claudia gave me a boy.” “I don’t want probate problems.”
I looked at the ICU nurse standing nearby. “My phone,” I managed to say clearly. “Please.”
“Ms. Vance, you should rest—” the nurse began.
“Please,” I insisted, my tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s in my personal belongings bag in the drawer.”
The nurse hesitated, then pulled out my iPhone and handed it to me.
I unlocked the screen. There were eleven missed calls and eight text messages from Alejandro, spanning from 1:00 PM to 5:00 PM.
Alejandro: Did you make it through? Call me when you wake up. Alejandro: Claudia wants to know if the doctor gave a prognosis. Alejandro: Need to know when I can come back to finalize the filing with my lawyer.
He didn't even ask if I was breathing. He was just waiting for the green light to officially execute his fresh, untethered life with my money and his mistress.
I didn't reply to a single message.
Instead, I dialed a number I knew by heart.
It was 5:45 PM. My private wealth manager at Northern Trust, Arthur Pendelton, answered on the second ring.
“Camila? My God, is surgery over? How are you?” Arthur’s anxious, fatherly voice filled my ear. He had been my father’s head financial advisor for thirty years.
“I survived, Arthur,” I said, my voice growing stronger with every breath. “The tumor is gone. And I need you to perform three immediate tasks for me before the end of the business day.”
“Anything, Camila. Name it.”
“First, revoke all secondary authorized users on my personal Centurion card, my platinum accounts, and my credit lines. Effective immediately.”
Arthur didn't even ask why. “Consider it done. What else?”
“Second, freeze all outgoing wire transfers scheduled from my personal checking account. Specifically, the recurring monthly $25,000 stipend to 'Gomez Precision Machining' in Gary, Indiana.”
“Stopping the Indiana transfer now,” Arthur said, the sound of rapid keyboard typing echoing down the line. “And third?”
“Call Marcus Thorne at Thorne & Associates. Tell my lead real estate attorney that I need the lease agreement for Penthouse A at the Lake Shore Towers reviewed immediately. I want an emergency thirty-day notice to quit served on Alejandro Vance and all unauthorized occupants by tomorrow morning.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. Arthur was a smart man; he put the pieces together instantly.
“I understand, Camila,” Arthur said softly, his tone hardening into iron. “Is there anything else regarding his corporate access?”
“Yes,” I added, looking out at the Chicago skyline as the city lights flickered to life. “Notify the board of Vance Commercial Real Estate that Mr. Alejandro Vance’s position as guest advisor is terminated. Revoke his building keycards, lock his email, and escort him from the premises if he attempts to enter.”
“It will all be executed within the hour,” Arthur confirmed. “Rest well, Camila. We will handle the heavy lifting.”
“Thank you, Arthur.”
I hung up the phone.
May you like
I lay back against the stark white pillows, feeling the dull ache in my skull, but for the first time in fifteen years, my chest felt light.
Alejandro had walked into my hospital room believing my brain surgery was going to solve all his problems. He was about to discover that the thing he should have feared losing wasn't my life—it was my money.
