As darkness enveloped him, Eric’s final thought lingered. “Hadley, if this is truly my end, will you come to bid me one last farewell?”
At Srixby Airport.
The gurney screeched against the polished floor as it rolled toward the VIP exit. Eric rested motionless, his eyes shut. Doctors, nurses, Phillips, and several bodyguards moved alongside him in complete silence. Their quick steps echoed sharply across the corridor.
Back in Velacca, the moment Eric lost consciousness, Phillips wasted no time. He called in local emergency medical help and coordinated closely with the team back in Srixby. A private jet had flown Eric back without delays.
Just outside the terminal, Ferris appeared with the Srixby medical team, running to meet the group head-on.
“Move now!” Ferris lifted his arm, motioning them forward.
“Understood!” Without missing a beat, the team took control and loaded Eric into the ambulance, racing off to the hospital.
Before the transfer was even underway, the hospital had already laid the groundwork for the upcoming procedure.
Upon arrival, the medical staff wasted no time. Eric was rushed straight into the operating room.
“We’ve had ample time to get ready for this, Mr. Scott. Everything’s been arranged. We’ll give it our all,” one doctor said to Ferris before disappearing into the OR.
Still, no one could promise what the final result would be. Complications could surface without warning. Anything could happen behind those doors.
“I see,” Ferris said with a slow nod. His voice was quiet, but his expression betrayed the weight of his thoughts. “If my son comes out alive and well, the Scott family will not forget your efforts…”
A pause followed. His voice grew colder. “But if he doesn’t… none of you will touch another scalpel again.”
The warning landed heavily. The doctors glanced at each other, uncertain but silent.
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“I’m leaving my son in your hands,” Ferris added with a slight bow of his head. “Please take care of him.”
This was the only leverage Ferris had left—one final attempt to protect Eric, to ensure the stakes were known.
Without a word, the surgeons began to file inside. The steel doors shut behind them with a slow, final thud.
“Doctor, his blood pressure’s rising! Systolic just hit two hundred!”
“Get nitroglycerin in his system. Now!”
“On it!”
Another panicked voice rang out.
A scream shattered the tension.
Then, in a sudden burst, blood gushed into view. The wound had erupted into severe bleeding.
.
.
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