Julian wasn't allowed in the operating room.
He'd tried. Pulled every string he had. But Massimo's lawyers made sure the surgical team was entirely Carter-vetted. No friends. No witnesses. Just the anesthesiologist, the surgeon, and a nurse who wouldn't meet Julian's eyes when he asked how long the procedure would take.
"Four hours," she said. "Maybe five."
He sat in the waiting room for seven.
The chairs were plastic. Blue. The kind that made your back hurt after twenty minutes. He sat anyway. Watched the clock. Counted the people who came and went. A man with a broken arm. A woman holding a crying child. An elderly couple, holding hands, waiting for news about someone they loved.
Julian checked his phone forty-three times. No messages. No updates.
At 1:47 PM, the surgeon came through the double doors. Still in scrubs. Mask pulled down around his neck.
"The procedure went well," he said. Professional. Distant. "No complications. She's in recovery."
Julian stood. "When can I see her?"
"Give it an hour. Room 412."
The surgeon left. Julian sat back down. Stared at the clock.
Sixty-three minutes later, he walked into room 412.
Zora was awake. Sitting up in bed with her back against the pillows. The right side of her face was bandaged. Thick white gauze covering the eye they'd taken. The left eye was open. Staring at the wall.
She looked like the hospital sheets. Pale. Translucent. Something already halfway gone.
Julian pulled a chair close to the bed. Sat down. Reached for her hand.
Her fingers were cold. He wrapped both his hands around hers and held on.
They didn't speak for a long time.
Finally, Zora squeezed his fingers once. Then let go.
"It's done," she said. Her voice was flat. Empty.
Julian nodded. "It's done."
She closed her remaining eye. Exhaled slowly.
"Nana will be okay now," she whispered. "That's all that matters."
Julian's throat closed. He didn't correct her. Not yet.
---
Two days later, Zora called the facility.
She did it every Wednesday. 10 AM. Like clockwork. It was the one part of her old life she hadn't let Massimo take.
She sat in the hospital bed with her phone pressed to her ear. The bandage on her right eye was smaller now. Still there. Still a reminder.
The phone rang four times. Someone picked up.
"Sunrise Care Facility, how can I help you?"
A woman's voice. Unfamiliar.
Zora frowned. "I'm calling to check on Margaret Perry. Room 23."
A pause. Long enough to make Zora's chest tighten.
"Are you family?" the woman asked.
"Yes. I'm her granddaughter."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Ma'am, I'm very sorry, but Margaret Perry passed away three weeks ago."
The room went silent.
Zora's hand tightened on the phone. "What?"
"She had a cardiac episode. We did everything we could, but the defibrillator—" The woman's voice faltered. "There was a malfunction. The equipment hadn't been serviced. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Zora didn't respond. Couldn't respond. The phone stayed pressed to her ear, but she wasn't hearing anything anymore.
Three weeks ago.
Three weeks.
Before the surgery. Before the consent forms. Before she gave up her eye for a woman who destroyed her life.
Nana was already dead.
"Ma'am? Are you still there?"
Zora hung up.
She set the phone down on the bed. Stared at the wall. Her left hand rested on the blanket. The right one trembled against her thigh.
She didn't move for forty minutes.
---
Julian came back that evening. He had a folder under his arm. Thick. Stuffed with papers.
He closed the door behind him. Pulled the chair close. Set the folder on Zora's lap.
"I pulled the records," he said quietly.
Zora looked down. Opened the folder.
Maintenance logs. Budget reports. Quarterly reviews. All stamped with the Carter Enterprises logo.
She flipped through the pages. Her one good eye scanned the text.
Defibrillator. Last serviced fourteen months ago. Scheduled maintenance canceled. Budget cuts approved.
She turned to the final page.
A signature. Bold. Unmistakable.
Massimo Carter.
Dated eight months ago.
Zora stared at the signature. Her fingers traced the ink. The letters of his name.
He signed this. He approved the cuts. He killed Nana.
And then he used Nana as leverage to take Zora's eye.
She closed the folder. Set it aside. Looked up at Julian.
Her face was calm. Empty. Like someone had scraped out everything inside and left only the shape of a person.
"I need you to help me with something," she said.
Julian leaned forward. "Anything."
Zora's left eye—her only eye now—fixed on his face.
"I need you to help me destroy her."
Julian didn't ask who. He already knew.
"Tell me what you need," he said.
Zora reached for the notebook on her bedside table. Opened it. Pulled out a pen.
Her right hand shook. She switched to her left. Started writing.
Julian watched. Said nothing.
When she finished, she tore out the page. Handed it to him.
He read it. Looked up. Met her eyes.
"This will take time," he said.
"I have time," Zora replied. "Not much. But enough."
Julian folded the paper. Put it in his pocket.
"Then we start tomorrow," he said.
Zora nodded. Closed the notebook. Set it aside.
She lay back against the pillows. One eye bandaged. One eye open. Staring at the ceiling.
Nana was gone. Her eye was gone. Her body was dying.
But she wasn't done yet.
Not even close.
