Chapter 3

3: 3

After they bandaged the cut on my arm at the hospital, I got in a cab straight to Delgado Group.

All the years I spent building this company with Grace Delgado, every original draft of the core proposals I wrote, every project file, all of it was locked in the safe in the CEO's office.

Take them back, and we could cut ties for good.

The moment I reached the company turnstile, the screen flashed red.

【This employee has no access.】

The receptionist looked uncomfortable. "Mr. Henson, Ms. Delgado said you haven't been feeling well lately. You don't need to come in for now."

I called the admin manager and had him open the turnstile, then went straight up to the top floor.

The CEO's office door was ajar.

Herbert Winfield was sitting in Grace's chair, and Grace was leaning over him from behind, guiding his hand on the computer.

"Grace, when we take this to James Group tomorrow, they won't figure out the proposal was originally Lambert's, will they?"

Grace's voice was gentle. "The proposal's in the company system, so it's company property. You'll present it tomorrow, and I'll back you up."

I pushed the door open.

They both turned at once.

Grace let go of Herbert's hand fast and frowned. "How did you get in?"

I didn't answer. I walked straight to the safe, keyed in the code, and packed every original draft inside into a document envelope.

Grace pressed her hand against the door of the safe.

"Lambert, do you really have to push this so far? Yesterday was just a small disagreement. You take these files now, are you trying to wreck tomorrow's investment meeting?"

I lifted my eyes to her.

"Deleting my access, canceling my account, letting Herbert take my place, that's a small disagreement?"

"Herbert's only helping out for a while. You've been unstable lately. Take some time off. It's better for everyone."

Herbert walked over with a coffee in his hand.

"Lambert, don't get the wrong idea. If you don't want me at the company, I'll leave right now."

As he passed me, his wrist tilted, and the coffee spilled all over the carpet.

He gave a startled cry, grabbed the industrial-strength cleaner off the desk, and pumped it over the stain a dozen times.

The sharp chemical smell flooded the whole office in an instant.

My breath caught, and my chest clamped down hard.

I've had severe asthma since I was a child. A harsh smell can trigger respiratory failure at any moment.

I clamped a hand over my nose and mouth and stumbled toward the window, but the floor-to-ceiling panes were all sealed shut, and the AC was running on recirculation.

I yanked open a drawer looking for a spare inhaler. It was empty.

Herbert stood off to the side, covering his nose, muttering. "It's just a little cleaner. Does it really have to be this dramatic?"

I couldn't speak anymore. All I could do was grip the desk and fight for air.

My vision blurred, my legs gave out, and the files on the desk went crashing to the floor.

Grace finally realized something was wrong and rushed over to hold me up.

"Where's your medicine?"

I clutched her sleeve with everything I had, but only a broken thread of air came out of my throat.

She got an arm under me and started for the door.

Behind us, Herbert let out a cry of pain.

He'd stepped on the shattered coffee cup, and a gash opened across the sole of his foot, blood welling up fast.

"Grace, my foot really hurts. I still have to present at James Group tomorrow. What if the cut gets infected?"

Grace stopped.

She looked down at me, already convulsing from the lack of oxygen, then turned to look at Herbert sitting on the floor with his pained face.

Ten seconds later, she let go of me and pushed me onto the assistant who'd just come running.

She said coldly:

"His asthma's acting up. Take him to the hospital. Herbert has to present tomorrow, and his foot can't wait. I'll take him first."

With that, she helped Herbert up and hurried into the private elevator.

The doors slid slowly shut.

Herbert leaned into her arms, watching me through the closing gap, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile.

The assistant got me into the car right away and hit the gas.

The car raced down the jammed street.

I gripped the seat under me with both hands. Starved of air, the dull ache in my stomach suddenly seized into a cramp, and a warm, metallic sweetness rose in my throat.

The car ahead cut lanes without warning, and the assistant slammed the brakes.

I was thrown hard into the seat in front of me, and a tearing pain ripped through my stomach.

The next second, I lost consciousness completely.