“Chloe. Chloe Jefferson.” Chloe closed the door.
“I need your help.”
The girl was confused. Her eyes widened slightly, but the sternness in Evelyn’s gaze made her obey. She came closer and looked into Evelyn’s face.
“Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”
“I’m fully conscious,” Evelyn said, looking into her eyes. “And I need you to do something for me.
Do not tell anyone I am lucid—not my husband, not the doctors. But call my attorney, Jason Okonnell. His number is in my cell phone in the nightstand.
Tell him Evelyn Vance asks him to come immediately. Personal matter.”
Chloe shook her head, her hands beginning to fidget. The fear of losing her job was greater than her curiosity.
“I can’t do that. That’s not my job. If they find out…”
“If you do everything I say,” Evelyn paused to gather strength—the effort of speaking was enormous, “you will receive enough money to never work as a cleaner again.
Never mop strange floors or empty commodes again. I mean it. I know you have debt, Chloe.
I know you cared for your mother until her last breath and are bearing the costs of that care. This amount will pay off all that and more.”
The girl looked at her in disbelief, but something sparked in her eyes. Hope.
Desperation. Evelyn saw that this girl was clinging to any straw. Chloe thought of the monthly payment for her deceased mother’s nursing home that she still had to pay off, of the empty pantry in her small apartment.
“You… you’re serious about this?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Absolutely. But we have little time.
Call Okonnell now.”
Chloe hurried to the nightstand and took out the phone. It was the latest model, heavy and cool in her hands. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through the contacts.
She found the name and pressed call. Evelyn heard long rings. Finally, someone picked up.
“Mr. Okonnell? Excuse me.
I’m calling from the hospital. From… from Evelyn Vance. She asks you to come urgently.”
The lawyer asked something.
Chloe swallowed. “Yes, she… she is conscious. She says it’s a very urgent personal matter.”
She sounded like she was reciting a secret oath.
She handed the phone to Evelyn. “Jason, it’s me,” Evelyn said. Her voice was steady now.
Her rage gave her the strength. “I need to draw up a new will today. Come immediately and bring a public notary with you, and not a word to anyone.
I am being murdered, Jason. This is my last chance to secure my revenge.”
Okonnell was silent for a second on the other end. Then he answered briefly, his voice metallic.
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in about an hour. I’ll bring Tiffany and everything necessary.”
Evelyn gave the phone back to Chloe.
“Thank you. Now just wait here and be quiet. When he arrives, stay as a witness.
Do you understand?”
“But why me? Why do you trust me?” Chloe was overwhelmed by the sudden intimacy and weight of the situation. Evelyn smiled weakly, an expression of cold pleasure on her pale face.
“Because you are an outsider. You are not part of my circle. My husband cannot buy you or intimidate you.
You are uninteresting to him. You have no loyalties he can break. And I need you exactly as you are.
Pure. Desperate. Ready.”
Chloe sank into the chair by the wall, horrified by what was happening.
The realization that she held a wealthy woman’s life in her hands was overwhelming. Evelyn closed her eyes and gathered her strength. One hour.
She had to hold on. Inside, she repeated Paul’s hateful words. Those words were her fuel.
The time passed agonizingly slowly. Dusk was settling outside. The October day was ending early.
The hospital light shone cold and relentless. Chloe sat silently, occasionally glancing at Evelyn. She no longer saw Evelyn as her boss but as a dying enigma who was opening the door to a new life for her.
Exactly on the hour, the door opened and Jason Okonnell stepped in—a 54-year-old, fit man in a suit whose eyes betrayed the sharpness of an experienced lawyer. He had been Evelyn’s rock, and his expression was now serious, almost grim. He was followed by his assistant, Tiffany Marorrow, 25 years old, with a tablet in her hand and an alert expression.
Okonnell’s first action was to scan Chloe by the wall with a quick, assessing glance. “Evelyn Vance.” He approached the bed and looked at her face. “What’s going on?”
“Close the door,” Evelyn commanded.
“Sit down and listen carefully. I have no time for pleasantries or surprises.”
Okonnell nodded to Tiffany, who closed the door. Chloe remained standing by the wall, her breathing shallow as if afraid to move.
Okonnell noticed the tears in her eyes and her pale skin, silently noting these details. He sat down and pulled out a voice recorder. “May I record this for legal clarity?”
“Yes, you may.
I want every word documented,” Evelyn told him briefly and clearly, but her voice was filled with cold anger. She spoke about the test results, the toxic substance in her blood, and Paul’s words half an hour ago. She spoke of Paul’s triumphant look at the moment she realized she wasn’t sick, but being murdered.
Okonnell listened without interrupting, but his face grew harder and harder. The news of the poisoning didn’t completely surprise him, but Paul’s open display of triumph did. “Do you have the analysis reports in your safe at home?” he asked.
“Yes. The code is my mother’s birthday. Get them and make copies.
That is the evidence against him. That is the basis for a criminal case,” Okonnell said slowly, his voice deep. “But first, we must secure your will, or the entire estate will fall to your husband by law.
Legal logic must precede human revenge.”
“That is exactly why I called you. I want to leave everything to this young woman.” Evelyn indicated Chloe with a weak movement of her head. “Chloe Jefferson.
And she will pay you generously for your services. We will include that in the will as well.”
Okonnell turned and scrutinized the cleaning woman. Chloe was deathly pale but nodded in agreement.
The thought of becoming a multimillionaire was too abstract, but the idea of denying Paul the inheritance began to produce a cold satisfaction in her. “But why her?” Okonnell’s question was professional but also personal. “Because she is here.
Because I trust her. And because I have no time for doubts. My entire estate is premarital property.
I have no children. It is mine, and I can dispose of it as I wish. Draw up the will so that Paul cannot contest it.
Secure it against every legal attack.”
Okonnell nodded, his thoughts racing. “We need a notary and a doctor to confirm your capacity to execute the will at the moment of signing. Without that, the will is vulnerable.
Organize it today, immediately. I need an independent witness who gives Garrett no grounds for attack.”
“All right. Tiffany, call the on-call public notary and find an independent neurologist or psychiatrist from another hospital.
They must come immediately. Ensure this doctor has no contact with Hayes.”
Tiffany went out and took out her phone. Okonnell turned to Chloe.
His gaze was insistent. “Ma’am, do you understand what is happening?”
Chloe nodded uncertainly. “Not entirely.
It’s terrifying.”
“You will inherit the entire estate of Evelyn Vance—the house, the hospitals, properties, accounts. You will be a very rich woman. But you will also become a target for her husband.
He will try to contest the will. Perhaps he will try to intimidate you or bribe you, or worse. We are talking about a man who systematically poisoned his wife.
He is capable of anything. We must not only protect you but also neutralize him legally. Are you ready for that?”
Chloe was silent.
She took a deep breath, feeling the pounding in her temples. The possibility of never being hungry again was a powerful incentive. “Do I have to be?” she whispered.
“Yes, because we will do everything right legally, but psychologically it will be a war. He will not leave you alone.”
“You must be steadfast, Chloe,” Evelyn interjected, her voice now very weak. “Chloe, I am not asking you to be a saint.
Once you have the money, do what you want with it. But I ask you one thing: see this poisoning through to the end so he goes to prison. So he doesn’t kill anyone else.
And reward generously everyone who helps you. Do you promise me?”
The girl looked at Evelyn, tears in her eyes. It was the last request of a dying woman.
“I promise I will seek justice for you.”
Half an hour later, the room filled. The public notary, an older gentleman with a briefcase and seal. A psychiatrist from the neighboring hospital,
