She doesn't need $85,000 for experimental therapy when she is going to pass away by winter anyway.
The next day, just as the hospital cafeteria was serving its 2:00 PM lunch, the door to Room 408 opened. It wasn’t a nurse.
A tall, thin man in a ill-fitting suit stood there, holding a stack of papers clipped to a clipboard. He looked around the room, his eyes scanning past me to the empty visitor’s chairs.
He made eye contact, then strode directly to my bedside table. He placed the thick packet of documents squarely on my lunch tray, right next to my untouched sandwich.
“Hannah Montgomery?” he announced, his voice flat and formal.
“Yes,” I replied, my mouth suddenly dry.
“You have been served,” he said, without an ounce of warmth. He turned and walked out, his footsteps echoing in the suddenly silent hallway.
My hands hovered over the papers. The top sheet had a stark title: “Emergency Injunction and Motion to Restrict Communication.”
I stared at the words, a cold dread seeping through me. Ward was escalating.
Moments later, Finch burst into the room, his face tight. He must have seen the process server in the hallway.
He snatched the papers from my tray, his eyes quickly scanning the dense legal text. “I knew he wouldn’t waste time.”
Finch’s jaw tightened. “He’s filed an emergency petition for an immediate gag order on you, Hannah.”
He slammed the papers lightly on the table. “He wants to prevent you from communicating with anyone about your medical or financial affairs, citing ‘medical fragility’ and ‘potential for undue influence’.”
“And there’s more,” Finch added, his voice grim. “He’s requesting your immediate relocation.”
My breath hitched. “Relocation?”
“To an isolated care center in rural Pennsylvania,” Finch clarified, his eyes flashing with controlled anger. “Far from any local court oversight. Far from me. Far from your father.”
The implications hit me like a physical blow. He wanted to cut me off, to make me disappear into a facility where no one could reach me, no one could help me fight.
“This is a direct attempt to sideline you permanently,” Finch said, already pulling out his phone. “He’s accelerating his timeline to strip you of your remaining land rights, and anything else he can get his hands on.”
He paced the small room, dialing a number. “We need to file an emergency counter-motion for a temporary restraining order against him. Right now.”
His voice was sharp, cutting through the fear that had begun to grip me. Ward was making his move, and he wasn’t holding back.
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