Chapter 3
As the dinner was winding down, I slipped away to the restroom.
When I came out, the hallway was quiet.
Suddenly, my phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number from Oldbridge.
I frowned and hung up.
But the number kept calling, relentlessly.
I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in my gut.
In the end, I answered.
On the other end was a voice that would haunt me forever—Tommy Lewis, Jonathan's secretary.
His voice was thick with sobs, panic, and utter desperation. "Mrs. Grant, where are you? Please, I'm begging you, come back!"
I gripped my phone, my voice cold as ice. "You've got the wrong number."
"No, I haven't! Mrs. Grant, please! Mr. Grant... He's barely hanging on!"
Just as I was about to hang up, Tommy's voice broke with raw desperation. "Mr. Grant was hit by a piece of shrapnel in his abdomen. It's the exact spot you wrote about in your paper!"
My heart was completely unmoved.
I even found it a bit ridiculous.
"So what?" I asked.
Tommy was stunned.
He probably hadn't expected me to react this way.
He said, "Mrs. Grant, you're the only one—no, the only person on the planet—who can pull off this surgery!
"You just published that paper yesterday about extracting shrapnel."
"Is that so?" I strolled to the window at the end of the hallway, gazing down at the busy street below. "So what?"
"Mr. Grant... He's on the brink! The shrapnel is less than 0.04 inches from his main artery! No doctor dares to do the surgery!" Tommy's voice was cracking with desperation.
I said coolly, "Let him die, then."
With that, I hung up and blocked the number.
*****
When I got back to the ballroom, Michael was about to head out.
When he saw me, he stopped, concern flickering in his eyes. "Dr. Evans, you don't look so well. Did something happen?"
I shook my head. "It's nothing, just a bit tired."
"Let me drive you home."
"No need, Mr. Landon. I'll just take a cab myself."
I gently turned him down and walked out of the hotel on my own.
*****
Back at my apartment, I poured myself a cup of water.
I held the mug, and the details from Tommy's call slowly came into focus in my mind.
The piece of shrapnel in Jonathan's abdomen was lodged in the exact spot I'd described in my paper.
What went around came around.
I poured three years of my life into that paper.
During that time, Jonathan mocked me over and over.
He said I should just stay home, be a good wife and mother, instead of wasting my time on research.
He even cut off my lab funding right when my experiments mattered most.
He said his money wasn't meant for me to throw away.
Now, the very paper he once dismissed as worthless was his only lifeline.
My phone rang again.
This time, it was May.
As soon as I picked up, her loud voice blasted through. "Grace! Did you see the news? That bastard Jonathan is in trouble!"
"I heard," I said.
"Heard? Go check the news!" May's voice was urgent and fast. "He got shot at some private club's underground shooting range!
"Word is, the gun went off by accident! And guess who was with him? That bitch Wendy!"
My hand froze for a second.
I picked up my tablet and tapped on the news alert.
The headline was shocking: [The CEO of Grant Group, Jonathan Grant, got shot, and his life is in danger. It's said that his mistress, Wendy Stone, was the one who pulled the trigger.]
The news said Wendy was fooling around with a gun at the shooting range when it accidentally went off.
A bullet struck the metal target, and a piece of shrapnel ricocheted, hitting Jonathan in the abdomen.
And that gun? Jonathan had it custom-ordered for Wendy from overseas.
How ironic.
May was laughing gleefully on the phone. "Karma! Serves Jonathan right for pampering Wendy so much! Now look at him—almost got killed by his own mistress!"
After her laughter faded, she sounded a bit worried. "Grace, the Grants... They didn't try to reach out to you, did they?"
"They did," I replied.
"What did you say?"
"I told them to let him die."
There was a brief silence on the other end, and then May burst out laughing even louder.
She said, "Hell yeah! That's what he deserves! Grace, don't you dare go soft on him! Guys like that? If he dies, he totally had it coming!"
"Don't worry, May," I said, closing the news, my eyes steady. "I'm not that old Grace anymore."
After I hung up, the world went quiet at last.
After washing up, I lay down in bed.
I felt nothing—not a hint of pleasure, not a shred of sympathy.
Jonathan's fate was just another headline about a stranger, nothing to do with me.
My heart had died the moment he raised that golf club against me.