Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Corridor
The next morning, the grand kitchen of the Corbin estate felt like a stage set for a tragedy. Sunlight streamed through massive Palladian windows, illuminating the gleaming quartz countertops where Gertrude was pouring coffee from a silver pot. Douglas sat at the head of the island, scrolling through his tablet, while Evelyn, their mother, buttered a piece of toast with deliberate, trembling slowness.
I entered quietly, holding a tray with Garrett’s specialized morning supplements and herbal tea.
"How is my son this morning?" Evelyn asked without looking up, her voice dripping with a practiced, performative maternal anxiety that never quite reached her eyes.
"He slept, Mrs. Corbin," I replied evenly, pulling out the chair at the far end of the island to set down my notepad. "Though he’s still quite fatigued. His mobility remains extremely limited."
Douglas looked up from his tablet, a smug, dismissive smirk playing on his lips. "Well, what did you expect? The specialists made it clear months ago. My brother’s corporate career is effectively over. It’s a good thing I stepped in as interim CEO, or Apex Global Industries would have collapsed by now."
"Of course, Douglas," Gertrude chimed in, leaning over to kiss her husband’s cheek. "You've carried this family on your back while Garrett rests."
I kept my face neutral, stirring the herbal tea with practiced calm. But inside, my blood boiled. I knew what Douglas was doing. Over the last twenty-four hours, Garrett had quietly filled me in on the corporate restructuring votes happening next month. If Garrett remained incapacitated, Douglas and Gertrude would legally assume control of his voting shares, locking him out of his own company permanently.
"Has Dr. Vance confirmed when the next neurological assessment is?" I asked innocently, keeping my tone light.
The kitchen went dead silent.
Douglas froze, his coffee mug hovering inches from his mouth. Gertrude’s smile faltered, her fingers tightening around the silver pot handle until her knuckles turned white.
"We... we haven't scheduled the next one yet," Douglas said smoothly, recovering quickly, though a drop of sweat beaded near his hairline. "Garrett gets too agitated by medical tests. Best to keep him peaceful."
"I see," I murmured. "I’ll make a note of that."
Later that afternoon, while the rest of the household was occupied, I slipped into Garrett’s study under the pretext of dusting the bookshelves. The room smelled of old leather, expensive bourbon, and cedar. Garrett was sitting by the window, reading a financial report, his legs covered by a thick wool blanket to hide any accidental movement from prying eyes passing the hallway.
"You rattled them at breakfast," Garrett whispered, not looking up from his papers.
"Douglas is hiding something bigger than just executive control," I said, quietly locking the study door behind me. "When I mentioned Dr. Vance, Gertrude’s reaction wasn't just annoyed—it was terrified. They're forging medical records, aren't they?"
Garrett finally lowered the report, his gray eyes flashing with a cold, dangerous light. "Dr. Vance is on Douglas’s payroll. Every month, my lab results are altered to show elevated toxicity levels—levels that supposedly cause muscle atrophy and cognitive fog. Except... I stopped taking the routine evening pills three weeks ago, right before you arrived."
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My breath caught. "You figured out they were poisoning you?"
"I suspected it when my legs felt like lead every time I drank the evening water Gertrude personally brought me," Garrett said, his jaw tightening. "They aren't just trying to keep me in this chair, Rebecca. They were planning a slow, permanent exit strategy."
