Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
Gasps of sheer shock filled the boardroom. Three board members dropped their pens, while others stood up in utter amazement.
"Mark?!" Richard Hayes shouted, his voice cracking. "My God! He’s alive!"
Marcus dropped his gold fountain pen onto the glass table. His face turned as pale as a bedsheet; his lips trembled violently as he stared at his younger brother like he was looking at a ghost returned from the grave.
"No..." Marcus whispered, leaning back in his chair, his hands shaking uncontrollable. "No... that’s... that’s impossible..."
Mark raised his right hand, adjusting his oxygen mask with a slow, deliberate movement. His voice was hoarse from the breathing tube he had used hours earlier, but every word he spoke carried the weight of absolute authority.
"Did you really think... a little pufferfish poison... would be enough to get rid of me, Marcus?" Mark said, his voice echoing through the silent boardroom.
"Mark... brother!" Marcus stammered, frantically trying to change his story, rising from his chair with fake enthusiasm. "Thank God! It’s a miracle! Dr. Stevens lied to us! He told me you were dead!"
"Shut up, Marcus," Mark said coldly, his dark eyes locking onto his brother’s face. "Don't insult my intelligence or the intelligence of this board."
Mark reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small silver USB flash drive, laying it on the table in front of Richard Hayes.
"On that drive," Mark announced, "is an encrypted audio file recorded by my personal phone in my clinic room three days ago. Before Dr. Stevens administered the toxin, he called Marcus on speakerphone to confirm the transfer of two million dollars."
Marcus froze, his breath catching in his throat.
"And on that recording," Mark continued, "Marcus clearly states: 'Make sure the dose keeps him paralyzed until the burial is complete. I want him six feet under before he wakes up.'"
The boardroom erupted into furious shouts from the executives.
"You monster!" Richard Hayes yelled at Marcus. "You tried to bury your own brother alive for company stock?!"
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Marcus backed away toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, his eyes wild and cornered like a trapped animal. "It was my company!" Marcus screamed, his fake grief completely evaporating into pure, unhinged rage. "Our father gave you 51 percent because he thought you were the golden child! I built the distribution networks! I did the dirty work! You didn't deserve any of it!"
"You sacrificed your humanity for money, Marcus," I said, stepping beside Mark’s wheelchair and resting my hand on my husband’s shoulder. "And now you’re going to lose both."
