Chapter 6 - The Patriarch’s Verdict(1,800 words)
The private jet carrying Richard Callahan touched down at Tweed New Haven Airport at six o'clock the following morning. By seven-thirty, the seventy-eight-year-old billionaire patriarch entered the estate foyer, his face dark as a thundercloud. He moved with a heavy, deliberate stride, his cane clicking against the marble floor.
Waiting in the main living room were Vivian, Chelsea, Daniel, and Adeze, who was sitting quietly in a armchair near Daniel’s desk, dressed in clean, professional civilian clothes provided by Daniel.
Richard didn't even drop his coat. He walked straight up to Chelsea and tossed a printed stack of legal documents onto the coffee table.
"Is it true?" Richard’s voice roared through the room like thunder.
Chelsea cowered behind her mother, sobbing. "Dad... I was desperate—"
"You stole a piece of jewelry insured under my corporate policy, sold it to a fence, and blamed a staff member!" Richard barked, his face turning an unhealthy shade of crimson. "And you, Vivian!" He turned his furious gaze onto his wife. "You raised a baseball bat against a worker in my home?! Do you have any idea what the press would do with this if it leaked to the New York Post?! The Callahan stock would plummet twenty percent before the opening bell!"
"Richard, darling, please!" Vivian tried to wrap her arms around his coat, but he shoved her hand away. "I was only trying to protect Chelsea! I thought the maid was lying! We were humiliated in front of our friends!"
"You humiliated yourselves!" Richard shouted, clutching his chest suddenly as a sharp pang of pain shot through his sternum. He stumbled backward, gasping for air.
"Father!" Daniel leaped up from his chair.
Vivian screamed, stepping back in terror.
Before anyone else could react, Adeze was on her feet. Her medical training instantly took over. She rushed to Richard’s side, catching his heavy frame before he collapsed to the floor.
"Get him onto the couch! Now!" Adeze commanded in a authoritative, professional tone that silenced the room.
Daniel helped guide his father onto the leather sofa. Adeze immediately unbuttoned Richard’s collar, checked his pulse, and pulled a small penlight from her pocket to check his pupils.
"His pulse is rapid and irregular—over one hundred and forty beats per minute," Adeze said calmly to Daniel. "He’s experiencing an acute hypertensive crisis brought on by severe stress. Where is his medication?"
"In... in my coat pocket," Richard gasped, sweat dripping down his forehead as he clutched his heart. "Nitroglycerin..."
Vivian fumbled frantically with the coat, dropping the pill bottle onto the floor. Adeze scooped it up, checked the dosage label instantly, placed a sublingual tablet under Richard’s tongue, and elevated his legs using two throw pillows.
"Call nine-one-one," Adeze told Daniel. "Tell them we have a fifty-eight-year-old male with pre-existing heart disease experiencing severe chest pain and severe hypertension. Request an ALS paramedic unit."
Daniel dialed the emergency line immediately.
For the next fifteen minutes, while Vivian wept uselessly in the corner and Chelsea stared in shock, Adeze remained by Richard’s side. She monitored his breathing, kept him calm with steady, rhythmic instructions, and held his hand until the sirens echoed down the driveway.
When the Greenwich EMS team burst into the living room with their stretchers and equipment, the lead paramedic took one look at Richard’s vitals and turned to Adeze.
"Who administered the nitro and stabilized his positioning?" the paramedic asked.
"I did," Adeze said professionally. "I'm a registered nurse. His blood pressure was two-hundred over one-ten when he collapsed. The tablet was administered twelve minutes ago."
The paramedic nodded in deep respect. "Excellent work. You saved him from a massive stroke. If his pressure had stayed that high for another five minutes, he’d be in an ICU on a ventilator."
As they wheeled Richard out toward the ambulance, the old billionaire reached out and grabbed Adeze’s sleeve, stopping the stretcher for a brief second. His eyes, usually so cold and intimidating, were filled with genuine shock and gratitude.
"You..." Richard rasped softly. "You saved my life."
"Rest now, sir," Adeze said gently. "We will talk when you are recovered."
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Richard looked over at his wife and step-daughter, who were standing near the doorway, looking small and utterly pathetic. Then he looked at Daniel, who gave his father a firm nod.
"Vivian," Richard managed to say through his oxygen mask, his voice weak but cold as steel. "Pack your bags. Both of you. Get out of my house before I get back from the hospital."
