Chapter 4

Bridget's brain went completely blank. The sight of the red blood on her mother's skin made her stomach drop. She held onto Cherrie's shaking shoulders, supporting her weight.

Cherrie quickly hid her hands behind her back. She swallowed hard, forcing the metallic taste down her throat. She grabbed a tissue from the side table and wiped the corner of her mouth.

Bridget's hands were shaking as she reached for her phone in her pocket.

"I am calling 911."

Cherrie's hand shot out. Her grip on Bridget's wrist was shockingly strong. Her nails dug into Bridget's skin.

"No ambulances. No hospitals. Do not alert the media."

Bridget felt tears burning the back of her eyes.

"Mom, you are coughing up blood! How long have you been hiding this? This is not bronchitis."

Cherrie took a deep, rattling breath. She forced her posture to straighten, smoothing the wrinkles on her silk robe.

"It is nothing. I have been working too many late nights. A blood vessel ruptured in my throat. That is all."

"I don't believe you," Bridget said, her voice cracking. "I am calling Dr. Miller to come here right now."

Cherrie's eyes turned completely cold.

"Do you want the company's stock to crash tomorrow morning? The board is already looking for an excuse to force me out. If they smell blood, we lose everything."

The mention of the stock price froze Bridget in place. She knew how ruthless the board of directors was. If they thought Cherrie was weak, they would tear her apart.

Cherrie pushed Bridget's hands away. She walked slowly into the bathroom and locked the door.

Bridget stood in the hallway. She heard the shower turn on, the loud rush of water masking the muffled sounds of her mother coughing again. Bridget leaned her head against the wall, feeling entirely helpless.

Ten minutes later, Cherrie walked out. She had washed her face and applied a light layer of makeup. The ruthless CEO mask was firmly back in place.

She walked into the living room and sat down.

"Tell me exactly what happened with David."

Bridget swallowed the lump in her throat. She explained the hotel room and the restaurant, leaving out the part about Damond.

Cherrie nodded slowly. "Good. He is a weak man. He does not belong in this family."

Cherrie stood up and walked to her heavy oak desk. She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a thick stack of legal documents. She handed them to Bridget.

"These are the authorization papers for the core trust fund. I need you to go to the lawyer's office tomorrow morning and sign them. You will take over the voting rights."

Bridget looked at the papers. Her chest tightened. It felt like her mother was preparing to die. She stared into Cherrie's eyes, searching for the truth.

Cherrie avoided her gaze. She walked to the entryway table where the mail was sorted. She picked up a plain manila envelope.

"The courier delivered this to the wrong address today. Drop it off on your way to the lawyer tomorrow."

Bridget took the envelope. The recipient name read 'Jane Roe'. The address was a private concierge clinic on the Upper East Side.

Bridget shoved the envelope into her bag, her mind racing.

"Go to sleep, Bridget."

Cherrie took her coffee cup, walked into her home office, and locked the door behind her.

Bridget went to her bedroom. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The image of the blood on her mother's hands mixed with the memory of Damond's dark gray eyes. Her anxiety was suffocating.

At 2:00 AM, Bridget threw off the covers. She walked silently down the hall. A thin line of light spilled from under the office door.

She pressed her ear against the cold wood.

Inside, Cherrie was speaking on the phone. Her voice was a harsh whisper.

"I don't care what the physical toll of this experimental therapy is. My body can't hold out much longer, and we have to trigger the key man clause before the end of the month."

Bridget's heart smashed against her ribs. She backed away from the door, her hand covering her mouth to stop a sob. She did not dare open the door. If she broke her mother's wall of denial, Cherrie might shatter completely.

Bridget ran back to her room. She grabbed her phone and typed the address from the manila envelope into the search bar.

The results loaded. It was an ultra-private oncology clinic. They only treated billionaires and politicians.

A terrifying realization hit her. Jane Roe did not exist. It was a fake name. The medical file belonged to her mother.

Bridget gripped the phone until her knuckles turned white. Tomorrow, she was going to that clinic. She was going to find out exactly what was killing her mother.