Chapter 6 - The Morning Inspection
Willa took a deep, steadying breath, sliding the encrypted flash drives and the contingency will into the deep pockets of her cardigan. She left the heavy ledger resting on the bed, partially covered by a medical chart.
Then, she walked over and unbolted the door, pulling it open with an expression of calm, icy defiance.
Standing in the hallway was Mr. Crowley, flanked by Marcus Vance and Dr. Alan Whitfield. Marcus wore an expensive gray suit with his hands tucked into his pockets, radiating the casual arrogance of a man who owned the courtroom and the streets alike. Whitfield held a clipboard with a crisp, newly printed set of psychiatric evaluation forms.
“Good morning, Willa,” Marcus said smoothly, stepping past her uninvited into the room, his eyes scanning the clinical equipment. “We need to have a brief conversation about your living arrangements.”
Willa didn't move from the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. “My place is with my husband, Mr. Vance. As legally established by our marriage certificate yesterday.”
“A marriage certificate obtained under extreme duress as part of a temporary proxy agreement,” Marcus replied, offering a thin, cold smile. “Dr. Whitfield has completed an updated evaluation of your psychological fitness. Given your history at St. Ambrose and the severe emotional trauma you’ve endured regarding your mother’s medical status, it has been determined that you are no longer capable of rational decision-making.”
Whitfield stepped forward, holding out the clipboard. “Sign the voluntary transfer papers, Willa. It’s better for everyone. You’ll receive the specialized care you need, and your mother’s care at the facility will be permanently secured.”
Willa looked at the papers, then slowly raised her gaze to meet Whitfield’s eyes.
“And if I refuse?” she asked.
Marcus’s smile vanished. He gestured subtly to Mr. Crowley, who stepped forward, blocking the exit. “Then we make it involuntary. State marshals will escort you out in handcuffs by noon, and the public record will list you as a volatile, unstable woman who suffered a psychotic break.”
The silence in the room stretched to a breaking point.
Willa didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, dangerous smile touched the corners of her lips—a smile that made Marcus’s instincts suddenly flare with unease.
“You think you’ve won, don't you?” Willa whispered.
She turned around, walking briskly toward the bed. Marcus and Whitfield followed her closely, assuming she was finally breaking down.
Willa reached out and swept the medical chart aside, revealing the thick leather-bound financial ledger resting beneath it.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks. The color vanished from his face as he recognized the emblem on the cover.
“Where did you find that?” Marcus hissed, lunging forward.
Before Marcus could take another step, a sharp, metallic click echoed through the room.
Marcus froze. Whitfield gasped and stumbled backward.
May you like
Willa stood beside the bed, holding the heavy black Sig Sauer P229 with both hands, the suppressor pointed dead center at Marcus Vance’s chest. Her hands did not shake. The absolute, unyielding calm of an ICU nurse managing a catastrophic code had returned.
“Step back, Mr. Vance,” Willa said, her voice ringing with lethal clarity. “Because the next person who tries to lock me in an asylum is going to need a very different kind of doctor.”
