Chapter 3

Within twenty minutes of the crash on the FDR Drive, a court-dispatched emergency medical helicopter airlifted Idella from the twisted wreckage to the trauma center at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, while Hale's Maybach screeched to a halt under the hospital's rain-swept entrance canopy.

Ambulance sirens wailed through the downpour, red and blue lights flashing across the puddles on the pavement. Standing beside the open car door with his bespoke suit half-drenched, Hale held his phone tight against his ear, his face livid.

His special assistant, Colin Foster, ran over holding a large black umbrella, his voice shaking.

"Mr. Montgomery! The helicopter just brought Mrs. Montgomery into the trauma center. Her car was completely crushed, and she suffered severe head trauma!"

Standing right beside Hale with his overcoat draped over her shoulders, Kelli hid a flash of glee in her eyes before putting on a fragile, weeping expression and grabbing Hale's sleeve.

"Hale... how could this happen to her? It's all my fault, I shouldn't have come back tonight..."

She dug her fingernails into her palm to force out more tears.

Hale yanked his arm out of her grip in irritation and spoke without looking at her.

"Stay in the car. Don't go anywhere."

He turned and bounded up the emergency room steps, his leather shoes splashing through the water as he strode straight toward the private elevator leading to the neurosurgery floor.

Upstairs, the red "IN OPERATION" light glowed brightly above the double doors, the hallway thick with the smell of antiseptic and blood.

A trauma surgeon covered in blood hurried out holding a critical condition notice.

"The patient has an acute subdural hematoma and cerebral contusion. We need to perform a decompressive craniectomy immediately! Family member, sign here!"

Hale took the clipboard. His right hand shook uncontrollably, the tip of his pen nearly tearing through the thin paper as he signed his name.

Suddenly, the heavy, rapid thud of a cane striking the tile floor echoed from the end of the corridor.

Jeb Montgomery, the ambitious eldest son of the family's second branch who was always looking for a chance to seize power, walked up fast while supporting the family patriarch, Almon Montgomery. A gloating smirk tugged at the corner of Jeb's mouth.

Over seventy years old with a full head of silver hair and a tailored black wool coat, Almon was livid, his face dark with fury because he had always treated Idella like his own granddaughter.

Walking straight up to Hale, the old patriarch raised his heavy cane topped with a solid gold eagle head and swung it down hard against Hale's broad shoulder.

The cane struck bone with a loud thud. Hale staggered slightly but took the blow in silence, clenching his jaw tight.

"You bastard!"

Almon roared, his chest heaving.

"For some cheap, low-class woman from nowhere, you pushed Idella into driving to her death in a storm?"

Jeb stepped in pretending to play peacemaker, his tone dripping with fake sympathy.

"Father, please calm down. Hale just acted on impulse. It's just a pity for the last heir of the Rutledge family. If she dies on that operating table tonight, we won't be able to suppress the Wall Street headlines tomorrow."

Hale whipped his head around, his icy gray-blue eyes locking onto Jeb.

"Jeb, shut your mouth, or when the market opens tomorrow I'll liquidate every offshore account under your branch's name."

Jeb's face stiffened under that murderous glare, and he backed up half a step, clamping his mouth shut.

Almon pointed a trembling finger at Hale's nose and slammed his cane against the floor.

"If Idella doesn't make it through this, I will convene the board immediately, strip all voting rights from your trust, and kick you out of Montgomery Global!"

The operating room doors remained shut as the red light stayed on for five agonizing hours. Hale leaned his back against the cold white wall the entire time, his fists clenched so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms as images of Idella's pale face and quiet smiles over the past three years replayed in his head.

At four in the morning, the doors finally slid open. The lead neurosurgeon walked out exhaustedly and pulled down his bloodstained mask.

"The intracranial hematoma has been cleared and the skull flap is secured. Her life is out of danger for now," the doctor said, letting out a long breath. "However, due to severe concussion and localized neural trauma, she may experience shifts in emotional perception or cognitive behavior when she wakes up."

Almon's tense shoulders sagged in relief as he whispered a quick prayer, before shooting Hale another venomous glare.

Hale's Adam's apple bobbed as he let out a shaky breath.

"Can I go into the ICU to see her now?"

Almon let out a cold laugh and blocked Hale's chest with his gold cane.

"Get lost and go deal with that shady woman you left outside. Until Idella wakes up, you are not allowed to take half a step into her room!"

Nurses pushed the gurney out of the operating suite. Idella's head was wrapped in thick white gauze, her face as pale as paper and the back of her thin hand taped with IV tubes.

Watching her motionless face past the nurses' shoulders, Hale felt a hollow ache squeezing deep inside his chest. The gurney was wheeled quickly into the intensive care unit, and the heavy doors locked with a click, shutting him out in the cold hallway.

Inside the quiet ICU room, the heart monitor beeped steadily beside the bed, and next to the pillow where her dark chestnut curls spilled out, Idella's right index finger twitched slightly.