Chapter 2 - The Waking Room
When I woke again, the smell of sterile linen and antiseptic replaced the biting cold of the Chicago sidewalk. The room was bathed in the pale, flat light of a late winter afternoon. A heart monitor clicked with a steady, metronomic rhythm that filled the silence.
My left hand rested on my stomach. The baby was still there, moving with a reassuring, heavy nudge against my palm.
“Eleanor.”
Grant stood beside the bed. His coat was neatly folded over the back of a leather chair, but his tie was slightly loosened. He looked exhausted, yet there was a careful, deliberate precision in the way he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead.
“You’re awake,” he murmured. “The doctors said your pacemaker experienced an acute electromagnetic interference. They had to perform a manual reset.”
I tried to speak, but my throat felt dry as sand. I reached up, my fingers grazing the skin beneath my collarbone where the device sat beneath the muscle. The skin was tender, bruised purple.
“The necklace,” I whispered, my voice raspy.
Grant’s hand paused on my forehead for a fraction of a second too long before he withdrew it.
“It’s safe,” he said smoothly, walking over to the bedside table where a leather pouch lay zipped shut. “The police recovered it from the scene. The boy dropped it when Daniel subdued him. They’ve booked him for attempted grand larceny and assault.”
“He wasn’t stealing it,” I said, remembering the raw terror in Noah’s voice, the way his radio had clicked and distorted as I approached. “Grant, the radio... he was trying to get it off me.”
Grant let out a soft, sympathetic sigh, the kind a person uses when dealing with someone recovering from delirium.
“Eleanor, you just suffered a cardiac event while seven months pregnant. Your mind is playing tricks on you to make sense of a chaotic moment. A street urchin saw an expensive piece of jewelry on a wealthy woman and made a desperate grab for it. It’s as simple as that.”
“It wasn’t simple,” I insisted, closing my eyes as a dull ache throbbed behind my temples. “The radio was clicking. My pacemaker skipped every beat the moment it came near.”
“That’s medically impossible,” Grant said, his tone firm, anchoring reality back to what he wanted it to be. “The jeweler who resized it, Marcus Vance, checked the platinum and the setting. It’s a family heirloom. Nothing more.”
Before I could press further, the door opened and Dr. Harrison walked in, followed by a nurse carrying a clipboard. Dr. Harrison looked at the monitor, checked my chart, and shone a small penlight into my eyes.
“Well, Mrs. Sterling, your heart rhythm has stabilized, and the baby’s vitals are strong,” Dr. Harrison said, though his expression remained guarded. “However, you’re staying under observation for at least forty-eight hours. No board meetings, no calls, no stress.”
“The Ashford Meridian vote is in three days,” I said, trying to push myself up against the pillows.
“The vote can wait,” Grant interjected smoothly, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder, keeping me down. “I’ve already spoken with the board members. I explained that you suffered a medical emergency. They’ve agreed to postpone the preliminary discussions until you’re discharged—using your proxy, of course, to keep things moving administratively.”
I froze. “I didn’t sign the proxy, Grant.”
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“You didn’t have to,” he said with a faint, reassuring smile. “Under the emergency corporate bylaws for incapacitated executives, your husband and primary stakeholder can act in your stead to protect corporate stability. The paperwork was filed an hour ago.”
A cold dread settled deep in my stomach, far colder than the Chicago wind.
