The hospital room inside the manor was more advanced than most ICUs.
Arthur Melton lay on the bed, hooked up to a dozen machines. He was frail, his skin translucent.
Dr. Evans, the family physician, stood by the bed, arms crossed. He looked at Camille with open disdain.
"This is ridiculous, Mr. Melton," Evans said to Horatio. "She's a convict, not a doctor. She doesn't even have a degree."
Camille ignored him. She had already hacked the hospital's private servers and reviewed every test and scan conducted on Arthur over the last year. She knew more about his condition than Evans did. She walked to the bed.
She didn't look at the monitors. She peeled back Arthur's eyelids. She checked his fingernails. She pressed her fingers against the lymph nodes in his neck.
"Did he travel to South America before the symptoms started?" Camille asked.
Horatio frowned. "No one knows about that trip. It was off the books."
"It's not Parkinson's," Camille said, turning to face them. "It's Aztec Neurotoxin poisoning. A very rare, very slow-acting derivative. It mimics degeneration. Your own blood panels showed anomalous peptide markers, but you misidentified them."
Dr. Evans opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked shocked.
"Can you cure it?" Horatio asked. His voice was tight.
"Yes," Camille said. "But I need three months. And I need access to the Lazarus Protocol compounds."
"Name your price," Horatio said immediately. "Fifty million? One hundred?"
Camille shook her head. "I don't want your money."
She took a step toward Horatio.
"I want a name," she said. "I want to be Mrs. Melton."
The silence in the room was absolute. The only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.
Horatio stared at her. His face was unreadable. "You want to marry me?"
"I want the protection your name provides," Camille said. "And the power it unlocks. The Haynes family trust has a covenant. A married heir with a child gains controlling interest. Your name makes my child untouchable and gives me the weapon I need to destroy the people who put me in prison."
She paused. "It's a business merger. Three years. Then we divorce. I take nothing. No alimony. No assets. Just the safety of the name."
"And in exchange?" Horatio asked.
"I save your grandfather. And I keep the gold diggers away from you. I know you hate the dating scene. I'll be the perfect shield."
Horatio looked at her. He was calculating. Risk versus reward.
Suddenly, the heart monitor spiked. A rapid, high-pitched alarm filled the room. Arthur's body began to convulse.
"He's crashing!" Dr. Evans yelled, reaching for the defibrillator paddles.
"Don't shock him!" Camille shouted. "It's a neuro-storm! You'll fry his brain!"
She shoved Evans aside. She grabbed Arthur's hand and pressed her thumb hard into a specific nerve cluster between his thumb and index finger. She used her other hand to press a point behind his ear.
Ten seconds.
The convulsions stopped. The heart rate smoothed out.
Camille stepped back, breathing hard.
Horatio looked at his grandfather, then at Camille.
He pulled out his phone. He dialed a number.
"Get the lawyers," Horatio said. "Draft a prenuptial agreement. I'm getting married."
Camille let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"One more thing," Camille said. "I'm moving in today. I need to collect my last remaining belongings from the Haynes penthouse, but I refuse to walk back into that snake pit alone."
"Blake will send a car," Horatio said, putting his phone away.
"No," Camille said. "I want you to escort me. Personally."
Horatio raised an eyebrow. "Pushing your luck?"
"It's brand management, fiancé," Camille said. "If we're doing this, we do it loud."
Horatio looked at her. A corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"Fine," he said. "One hour. I'll meet you at that rat hole."
