My senior business partner told the board he was boarding an eleven-hour flight to Zurich for an emergency investment summit.
The sterile quiet of my hospital room was shattered a few days later by a knock on the door. It wasn’t Detective Bennett. It was Margaret Danforth, Jason’s powerful, steely-eyed board chair, accompanied by a man I didn’t recognize.
He introduced himself as Donald Hallowell, a Senior Insurance Adjuster for Apex Mutual Insurance. He had a meticulous, almost fussy air about him, his suit perfectly pressed, a thin smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. Margaret, as always, was impeccably dressed, her expression a mask of polite concern.
“Emily, dear,” Margaret began, her voice smooth as silk, “we’re so relieved you’re recovering. Such a fright, that whole ‘power outage’ business.” She emphasized the words as if quoting a newspaper headline.
Hallowell cleared his throat, pulling out a tablet. “Ms. Cross, I’m here regarding your recent incident and, regrettably, your corporate health coverage.”
My heart gave a nervous jump. “What about it?”
“Apex Mutual regrets to inform you,” he continued, reading from his tablet, “that your corporate health coverage has been retroactively canceled, effective three weeks prior to your… incident.”
I felt a cold dread creep up my throat. “Canceled? Why?”
“Due to non-disclosure of pre-existing autoimmune risks,” Hallowell stated, his gaze flat. He didn’t look up from the screen. “It appears certain medical conditions were not fully disclosed on your initial policy application. A clear violation of terms.”
“That’s impossible,” I protested, my voice raspy. “All my medical records were provided. I have a chronic condition, yes, but it was fully disclosed.” My $14,000 monthly medication was proof enough of that.
Margaret Danforth merely watched me, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. She said nothing.
“Our records indicate otherwise, Ms. Cross,” Hallowell replied, unblinking. “As such, any medical expenses incurred post-cancellation are your sole responsibility.”
He put the tablet away, a subtle shift in his demeanor. It was as if a switch had been flipped. He was no longer delivering bad news, but transitioning to something else entirely.
“On a separate note,” Hallowell announced, turning slightly to Margaret, “I’ve just approved the expedited claim for the $5,000,000 key-person partnership payout for Brock Bio-Tech.”
My breath hitched. Five million dollars. For Jason.
“Given Ms. Cross’s current incapacitation,” Hallowell explained, his eyes flicking to me for a fraction of a second, “the board’s decision to move forward with the policy payout is entirely justified. The funds will be transferred to Brock Bio-Tech’s primary corporate account within 24 hours.”
“Incapacitation?” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. I was sitting up, breathing on my own. I was recovering.
Margaret stepped forward then, her voice surprisingly gentle but with an undertone of iron. “Emily, dear, this is for the best. The company needs stability. Your… unfortunate circumstances mean we must make difficult decisions.”
She patted my hand, a gesture that felt more like a threat than comfort. Her smile was chillingly serene.
“Jason will be pleased,” Margaret added, her gaze fixed on me. “It ensures the company’s future, even if your personal health situation is… complicated.”
Hallowell nodded in agreement, already walking towards the door. The $5,000,000 payout was clearly the real reason for their visit. My health, my life, was just a detail, an inconvenient casualty in their grand plan.
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