Before he could act further, a surgeon rushed toward him.
“Mr. Collins, thank God,” the doctor said urgently. “We need to operate immediately. There’s pressure building in her brain—we don’t have time. We need consent.”
Henry’s expression hardened.
“Her husband didn’t sign anything?”
The doctor shook his head. “He refused to approve it over the phone. Said he needed to speak to his lawyer first.”
For a moment, everything went still.
This wasn’t neglect.
This was intentional.
Ethan was waiting.
Waiting for her to die.
Waiting for the insurance.
Henry didn’t hesitate. He took the forms and signed them himself, his name cutting across the page with absolute certainty.
“Do the surgery,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”
As the medical team rushed away, Henry made another call.
“Victoria,” he said when his lawyer answered. “I want Ethan Carter destroyed.”
There was no emotion in his voice.
“Financially. Legally. Completely. I want nothing left.”
Victoria didn’t ask questions.
“I understand,” she replied.
The night stretched on, long and merciless.