Three days later.
The Vincent estate in the Hamptons was a mausoleum of old money-dark wood, heavy drapes, and silence.
Helena was not there. Harrison had called her a dozen times, but she had blocked his number. Evelyn had sent the car anyway. It returned empty.
Now, the empty chair next to Harrison screamed louder than any argument.
Dinner was a disaster.
Sienna was wearing a dress that showed entirely too much cleavage. She was trying to charm Victoria Vincent, the matriarch of the family.
"So, Grandma," Sienna chirped. "I was thinking we could redecorate the sunroom."
Victoria, a woman of eighty with eyes like flint, stared at the empty chair next to Harrison.
"Where is Helena?" she asked.
"She's... under the weather," Harrison lied.
"She probably just didn't want to come," Sienna added, taking a sip of wine.
Victoria's face went grey. Her hand flew to her chest.
The crystal wine glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.
"Mother!" Evelyn screamed.
Victoria slumped forward, her face hitting the linen tablecloth.
"Call 911!" Harrison yelled, fumbling for his phone.
Chaos erupted. Maids were running. Evelyn was sobbing.
"Call Helena!" Evelyn grabbed Harrison's arm, her nails digging into his suit. "She's the only one who stays calm! She knows people, she'll know who the best doctor is! Get her here!"
"But..."
"Do it!" Evelyn shrieked. "If she dies, the trust freezes! We lose everything!"
Helena was just stepping out of the shower when her phone rang. She saw Harrison's name. She reached to decline it.
Then she saw the voicemail transcription. Grandma collapsed. Ambulance. Please.
Helena cursed. She hated Harrison, but she respected Victoria. The old woman had been the only one to treat her with dignity.
She threw on jeans and a sweater, grabbed her keys, and ran.
St. Jude's Emergency Room was a war zone.
Helena met the ambulance at the bay.
She pushed through the chaos, her voice cutting through the noise as she spoke to the attending physician. "Status?" she barked.
"Acute MI. V-fib en route. Shocked twice."
"Get her to Trauma One," the doctor ordered the paramedics. "I need a 12-lead EKG. Prep the cath lab."
Harrison and Evelyn burst through the doors a moment later. When they saw Helena standing there, getting a direct report from the lead doctor, relief washed over their faces.
The surgeon came out ten minutes later. He held a clipboard.
"It's massive," he said, his voice professional. "She needs a triple bypass. Immediately. Or she won't make it through the night."
He held out the consent form. "I need a signature."
Evelyn grabbed the pen.
"Stop," the hospital legal counsel stepped in. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Vincent. You are not the medical proxy."
"I'm her daughter!" Evelyn screamed.
The lawyer checked his tablet. "The Vincent Family Trust covers this level of experimental, high-risk procedure, but the bylaws are explicit. All major medical decisions must be authorized by the primary trustee, Mr. Collis Vincent. Otherwise, you'll be paying out of pocket."
The room went silent.
Harrison went pale. "Uncle Collis? He... he never answers his phone."
Helena froze. That name again.
The monitor inside the trauma room started beeping rapidly. A high-pitched alarm.
"She's crashing again!" a nurse yelled.
The surgeon spun around. "I don't care who the trustee is! Find him! Or she dies right now!"
