I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 140: Fall From Grace?II

Michael's pulse pounded in his ears as he ran toward the doctor, his feet barely touching the ground. He could hear hurried footsteps behind him, the others scrambling to keep up, but he didn't care. His entire world had narrowed down to the woman in the white coat standing before him. His mind screamed at him, filling his head with every terrifying possibility, but his heart refused to accept them.

He reached her, breathless, eyes wild with desperation. "What about Darren?" His voice came out raw, almost foreign to his own ears. His sudden approach startled the doctor, and she blinked at him as the others caught up, their faces just as frantic.

"Darren Copafield! Is he okay? Can we see him?" Nora's voice cut through the air, filled with so much urgency that even the other hospital staff passing by turned to glance at them. But before the doctor could respond, two more medical professionals stepped out from the same room she had emerged from.

Seeing her colleagues, the doctor's gaze flickered toward them. One of them nodded toward her and said, "We're heading to the break room."

"Okay," she replied. "I'll join you soon."

As the two walked away, the doctor turned back toward Michael and the others, only to be met with his desperate shout.

"Ma, what about Darren?! Is he okay? Why aren't you answering?" His voice cracked with emotion, frustration and fear intertwining as he took a step closer, his entire body trembling.

"Michael, stop! Calm down," Christiana urged, placing a hand on his arm to steady him before turning to the doctor, her voice far more composed yet just as urgent. "I'm really sorry about that. He's just worried. But please, what's the situation with our friend? Is he okay? What room is he in? Where can we see him?"

The doctor exhaled softly before responding, her tone firm yet professional. "I'm sorry, but I cannot disclose any patient's condition unless you are immediate family."

Michael recoiled as if she had slapped him. "Family?" He repeated the word like it was a foreign concept. His breathing grew uneven, and before anyone else could speak, he took a step forward, desperation shining in his eyes.

"We are his family."

His voice was hoarse, but there was no hesitation. Christiana quickly nodded in agreement, but Michael wasn't done speaking.

"Doctor, ma, please," he pleaded, his voice breaking, his hands clenched at his sides. "I've known Darren since we were little kids. He was always right behind me, always following me around, always looking up to me. It's because of me that he went out last night. It's because of me that he's hurt. If I had just told him to stay back, if I had just—" His voice wavered, and his face contorted in pain as he forced out the words. "Please. He's not just my friend. He's my younger brother. I need to know if he's okay. I need to know—"

Tears burned at the edges of his eyes as he swallowed hard, trying to contain the overwhelming guilt crushing his chest. His breathing was ragged, his body shaking with the weight of everything he felt.

The doctor hesitated. For a moment, her expression softened, but she quickly composed herself, shaking her head slightly. "I'm sorry, but hospital policy—"

"Please."

Nora's voice cut through the air, sharp yet trembling. Everyone turned toward her as she took a shaky step forward.

Tears streaked her face, her eyes filled with a storm of emotions—fear, desperation, and something deeper, something unbreakable.

"Please, I need to know."

The strength in her voice cracked, but she forced herself to keep going.

"Darren isn't my family." Her lips quivered, and she exhaled sharply, trying to steady herself. "He isn't. But he is—" She looked down, her hands trembling at her sides before she clenched them into fists. Then she lifted her gaze, locking eyes with the doctor, fierce and unwavering despite the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"He is my other half."

Silence fell around them.

"I need to know."

Her voice was no longer pleading—it was demanding, raw with emotion, filled with something so visceral it was impossible to ignore. The way she spoke, the way she stood, made it clear that whatever bond she and Darren shared, it ran deeper than blood.

The doctor hesitated again, her professional mask cracking just a little as she looked at the girl in front of her, a girl on the verge of breaking, yet standing firm.

For a moment, nobody breathed.

And then, slowly, the doctor exhaled.

The doctor exhaled softly, her gaze heavy with sorrow as she looked at the anxious faces before her. There was no easy way to say it. Years of medical training, of delivering painful news, had never made this part easier. Taking a measured breath, she finally spoke, her tone professional yet laced with undeniable grief.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Despite our best efforts, Darren Copafield did not make it. The bullet wound was too deep. He had already lost a significant amount of blood before he arrived, and even with the transfusions and emergency surgery, his body… he just couldn't hold on. We did everything we could."

Silence.

An unbearable, suffocating silence settled over them like a thick fog before it shattered under the weight of their devastation.

Michael didn't even register his own scream as it ripped from his throat. His vision blurred with tears, his entire body shaking. Before he knew it, he had slammed his fists against the nearest wall with such force that pain shot up his arms, but he didn't care. He collapsed onto his knees, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as his mind reeled back to the first time he met Darren—the little boy who had followed him everywhere, looking up to him like an older brother. The memories hit him like waves, each one more unbearable than the last. He gritted his teeth, his entire body wracked with sobs as he whispered, "I should have protected him. I should have stopped him."

Christiana and the other three boys were also breaking down, their cries filling the hallway. Tears streamed down their faces, their noses running as they clung to one another for support. It was an agonizing sight—a group of people bound together by grief, drowning in it, unable to find air.

But the most haunting reaction of all came from Nora.

She did not cry.

She just stood there, nodding as though she had just received the most mundane news. Her lips curled into a small, almost amused smile. Then, she laughed. A hollow, eerie laugh that sent shivers through the room. It started small, but it grew, spilling out uncontrollably, as though her body was rejecting the truth with sheer delirium. But even as she laughed, massive tears slipped from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks like rivers of pain. Her laughter turned shaky, then into broken gasps, and then— a wail.

"No, no, no, no," she muttered, her hands shaking violently. "Darren isn't… he's not—he's just playing a trick on me…" She stepped back, her breathing erratic, gripping her chest as though it might cave in. "This isn't real, this isn't—"

Then she screamed. A sound so raw and full of agony that it seemed to shake the very walls of the hospital.

Michael slammed his fist into the wall again, but this time, it wasn't just pain or guilt fueling him—it was rage. White-hot, unrelenting rage. He could feel it boiling beneath his skin, consuming him like wildfire. His mind reeled back to when the police first questioned him earlier that day. He had told them everything. He had given them every single piece of information he had. But nothing. No action. No arrests. And the person who usually supplied him with intel had mysteriously vanished.

His chest heaved, his jaw clenched, and then his eyes locked onto the hospital TV mounted in the corner. The news broadcast caught his attention instantly.

"Breaking news," the reporter said, standing outside a heavily guarded estate. "The Police Commissioner has officially approved the arrest of Alexander Blackwell. Law enforcement officials have mobilized and are currently storming Blackwell Estate as we speak."

Michael's eyes darkened. Hatred flooded his veins like poison. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. He could barely hear the others sobbing behind him because, in that moment, his mind could only hold one thought.

Alexander Blackwell.

He didn't care if he was being illogical. He didn't care if his anger was misplaced. He just needed someone to blame. And right now, Alexander was the only one he could fixate on.

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While Michael stared at the television, his entire body consumed by wrath, someone else in the room was feeling something entirely different.

Dr. Susan Beaumont stood frozen in place, her eyes glued to the screen, but unlike Michael's, hers were filled with sheer terror.

For the past nine hours, she had been in surgery, unaware of the media storm brewing outside these hospital walls. She had seen Alexander's name plastered across headlines in the past, always entangled in controversy, but this—this was different.

Arrest. Storming Blackwell Estate.

The words echoed in her mind, making her heart pound painfully against her ribs.

No. No, no, no.

Without thinking, without hesitation, she bolted. She barely registered the voice of a fellow doctor calling her name, reaching out to stop her as she stormed past them.

"Dr. Beaumont!"

She didn't slow down. She couldn't.

Bursting through the hospital doors, she ran into the street so suddenly that a motorcyclist nearly crashed into her.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" he yelled, swerving at the last second.

But Susan didn't even glance his way. She was already sprinting down the sidewalk, her hospital scrubs sticking to her skin from the sweat and panic coursing through her veins. She reached the curb, wildly scanning the road.

"Taxi! Taxi!" she shouted, her voice cracking from urgency.

A yellow cab screeched to a halt in front of her. Without hesitation, she threw open the door and scrambled inside, breathless, her hands trembling as she clutched the seat.

"Where to, ma'am?" the driver asked, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

She barely processed his words. She barely processed anything at all. There was only one thing on her mind.

Alexander.

As the taxi pulled away from the hospital, she pressed her hands together, her fingers interlocking tightly as though she were praying.

"Please be okay," she whispered under her breath.

The city blurred past the windows, but she didn't see any of it. Her heart pounded louder than the car engine

Authors Note

2 more chapters to go