Adrian's phone buzzed incessantly as he stood outside his father's ICU room, his heart torn between his concern for his father and the urgent call from his company. He answered reluctantly, his voice clipped.
"What is it?" he snapped.
The voice on the other end sounded frantic. "Sir, there's been a breach in our security system. Sensitive files have been accessed, and we suspect it's sabotage."
Adrian's jaw tightened. This was the worst possible time for such chaos, but he couldn't ignore the call. His father had taught him to be a vigilant leader, and he wouldn't let the company suffer because of his personal struggles.
"I'll be there shortly," he said, ending the call. With a quick glance at the ICU door, he muttered, "Hang in there, Dad. I'll fix this and be back soon."
Margaret and Benson, who had been hovering nearby, watched him leave with a mixture of relief and wariness.
"Finally, he's gone," Margaret hissed under her breath, turning to Benson. "But what if he finds a way to bring in some top specialist? You know how resourceful he can be. If Williams wakes up…"
Benson leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Relax, Margaret. Even if the old man wakes up, he has no proof. No one saw us. As far as the world is concerned, this was a random health incident."
Margaret's eyes darted nervously toward the ICU. "You're too calm about this," she whispered harshly. "What if he remembers something? What if he suspects us?"
"Suspecting and proving are two very different things," Benson replied coolly. "You're panicking for no reason. Trust me, we've covered our tracks. Besides, if Adrian's distracted with his company drama, he won't have time to play detective."
Margaret glared at him, her voice rising despite the quiet hospital corridor. "Do you think I'm stupid, Benson? You might not care because you have nothing to lose, but if Williams even hints at something, it's my reputation, my life, that's on the line!"
Benson chuckled darkly. "Oh, please. Don't act like you're some innocent victim. You're the one who came to me, remember? If anyone's going down, it's both of us. So, stop with the dramatics."
Margaret's face flushed with anger. "You think this is a joke? Do you have any idea what Adrian could do if he finds out? He already hates me. He'll dig until he finds the truth!"
Benson straightened, his tone turning cold. "Then you'd better hope the old man doesn't wake up, Margaret. Because if he does, you'll need more than fake tears to save yourself."
Margaret's hands trembled as she clutched her designer purse. She opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by a nurse walking by, throwing a suspicious glance their way. Both of them immediately softened their expressions, pretending to look concerned.
As soon as the nurse was out of earshot, Margaret hissed, "You're insufferable. We should've done something to ensure he doesn't recover. This half-baked plan of yours is falling apart."
Benson smirked, leaning in closer. "What would you have me do, Margaret? Sneak into the ICU and finish the job? Relax. Let's see how things play out first. The doctors aren't optimistic, anyway."
Margaret clenched her fists. "I can't believe I trusted you with this. If this fails…"
Benson interrupted, his voice low and menacing. "If this fails, Margaret, it's not just you or me who's in trouble. Adrian will burn down everything in his path to protect his father's legacy. So instead of wasting energy arguing with me, focus on keeping your fake act together."
Margaret exhaled sharply, her mind racing. She had always been good at playing her cards right, but this time, the stakes were too high. The sound of a monitor beeping faintly in the ICU sent a chill down her spine.
"You'd better be right, Benson," she whispered. "Because if you're not, we're both doomed."
Benson grinned, unbothered. "Relax, Margaret. The game's not over yet. We still hold the upper hand. For now."
As they stared at the closed ICU door, the tension between them thickened. Margaret couldn't shake the feeling that Benson's overconfidence would be their downfall, while Benson secretly wondered if Margaret's paranoia would unravel their carefully laid plans.
he doctor's words had brought a fleeting sense of relief to both Margaret and Benson, though it didn't completely quell the nagging sense of anxiety that clung to them. They sat in the sterile, quiet hospital room for a few more minutes after the doctor left, the echo of his assurances still lingering in the air.
"The chances of him waking up any time soon are slim," the doctor had said. "His vitals are stable, but there's been significant damage. It will take a long time before we can even think of his recovery. If he survives at all."
As the doctor's footsteps faded away, Margaret and Benson exchanged glances, both of them clinging to the doctor's words like a lifeline. But there was still a lingering doubt, an unease that neither could shake off. The old man had survived far worse than this before. They couldn't afford to relax just yet.
Margaret stood up from the chair, pacing around the room. "We can't take any chances," she muttered under her breath. "If he wakes up and remembers anything… if he suspects anything, all of this could unravel."
Benson, who had been leaning casually against the doorframe, sighed impatiently. "We've done enough, Margaret. The poisoning was subtle. His heart can't take much more. If he wakes up, it'll only be for a few days, at most."
Margaret stopped pacing and fixed him with a sharp look. "Do you really think I'm going to leave things to chance? No. I want him gone. I'm not letting him wake up, even if it takes more."
Benson raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. He had his doubts about the old man's resilience, but Margaret's obsession with finishing him off was becoming all-consuming. He nodded slowly, already starting to think about their next move.
"You're right," he said, "We need to make sure he stays unconscious. For good this time."
Margaret's face twisted with determination. "I'll make sure of it. I don't care if we have to—"
But before she could finish her thought, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway outside interrupted her.
"We're home," Benson said, his tone flat. He knew there was no need to dwell on their plans further for now.
As they made their way back to the house, their minds were already racing, plotting their next steps.
"We'll wait until Adrian leaves for work tomorrow," Margaret said, her voice tight with suppressed anger. "Then we'll make our move. We can make it look like a natural complication, something that no one could have predicted."
Benson nodded, his thoughts already on how they could execute this final step. They had to make sure no one questioned the situation, no one asked too many questions.
When they finally entered the house, Benson poured them both a glass of wine, and Margaret sank into the couch, the tension of the past few days pressing down on her shoulders.
"How long do you think we have?" Benson asked, his eyes narrowing in calculation.
"I don't know. But once Adrian hears the news, it'll all be over. We'll have control of everything, and no one will stand in our way."
Margaret clinked her glass against his, the weight of the plan they were setting into motion hanging heavy in the air.
"We finish this, Benson," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "Then Adrian will never see it coming.