Chapter 59 The Deall
EMILY
"I don’t understand. If all he needs is a simple appointment, why doesn’t he just register? He has plenty of money. Why is he spending his time groveling in the street instead of filling out the paperwork?"
“Well, because he can’t. Not anymore.”
A single piece of information can turn a terrifying monster into a desperate man.
I sit back in the plush velvet chair and process the words Dr. Aris just casually dropped onto the table. The late afternoon sunlight pours through the massive floor to ceiling windows of Bordeaux 101, warming the polished mahogany wood. Down below, the city streets look like a complicated maze of tiny toy cars and concrete blocks. Up here, the air smells of expensive roasted espresso and sweet vanilla cream.
“Why can’t he?” I ask.
"My private consultation calendar is booked solid for the next six months," Dr. Aris says. He slices a small piece of his poached pear dessert with a silver fork. We ordered more food because our conversation doesn’t look like it’ll end anytime soon.
"I cannot squeeze in a single new patient until late November. The surgical board simply will not allow it. And it goes against my principle of first come, first serve."
I trace the condensation on the outside of my crystal water glass. The cold moisture coats my fingertips. Six months. Silas Hunt is a violent syndicate leader who makes his living extorting small businesses, but he is also a son watching his mother die.
I remember him on his knees in front of the building. With that kind of desperation, I know for a fact that he doesn’t have six months.
Heart diseases are one of the worst out there. Whatever disease it is, as the days go by, her heart is racing against the clock.
A kidnapping, the harassment, his pathetic groveling on the concrete pavement outside the Etland Building, his entire desperate routine suddenly makes perfect logical sense.
He is cornered.
A sudden, sharp thrill of adrenaline rushes through my veins. I shove down my sympathy and start placing the information I have on an imaginary board. The pieces of the puzzle snap perfectly into place.
Silas isn’t a good person. He threatened to destroy Aunt Cherry and the Vance family. He promised to burn down her pizza shop. He has hurt countless people and ruined so many lives. He always felt untouchable.
But the almighty Silas Hunt now has a weakness. A massive and potent weakness. If I hold the key to his mother’s survival, I hold a permanent leash around his neck. I can neutralize his threat entirely without ever needing to fire a weapon or call Alistair for backup.
This is my chance to secure my own safety.
I look across the table. Dr. Aris is chewing his dessert, his silver hair reflecting the bright ambient light. His tailored gray suit looks immaculate. He is a man of profound medical ethics and rigid boundaries. Asking him to break his rules for a criminal is an enormous risk.
I bite my lower lip. The metallic taste of my own apprehension fills my mouth. I slide my hands under the white linen tablecloth, pressing my palms flat against my denim jeans to hide my nervous energy.
"Dr. Aris," I say slowly. I choose my words with extreme caution. "I need to ask you for a very large favor."
He sets his silver fork down on the porcelain plate. The cheerful, relaxed atmosphere of our lunch shifts instantly. He gives me his full, undivided attention. His gray eyes are sharp and analytical.
"I want you to treat Silas Hunt’s mother," I tell him.
Dr. Aris freezes. The warm, polite lines around his eyes vanish completely. He stares at me, completely silent, processing the strange request. He is a highly intelligent man. It only takes him three seconds to connect the sudden plea to the scene we witnessed outside the clinic.
"Did Silas Hunt cause trouble for you, Emily?" Dr. Aris asks. His voice drops an octave, turning hard and protective.
I take a slow breath. "He threatened someone I care about. He is a very dangerous problem, and he needs to be contained."
"You are married to Alistair Wolfe," Dr. Aris points out smoothly. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the crisp white tablecloth. "The Wolfe estate employs an entire private security force. One phone call from your husband would eliminate Silas Hunt from this city permanently. Why are you sitting in a French restaurant asking a medical dean to intervene?"
I look over at Leo. The massive bodyguard stands two paces away. He remains perfectly still in his dark suit, looking like a carved granite statue. He hears every single word, but he does not react.
"Silas does not know I am Mrs. Wolfe," I explain. I meet Dr. Aris’s gaze directly. "He thinks I am just the discarded daughter of the Vance family who married a bodyguard. And I want to keep it that way."
Dr. Aris narrows his eyes, clearly waiting for the rest of the explanation.
"I do not want to rely on Alistair’s power to solve my problems," I continue. My voice gains strength as I speak. "My entire life, the Vance family treated me like a useless object. They locked me in a cold storage room and tried to sell me to the highest bidder to cover their debts. Now I am living in a golden cage, acting as an incubator for a billionaire heir. I am tired of being helpless."
I lean closer to the table. The scent of the vanilla cream dessert is heavy in the air.
"I need my cardiology formula licensed so I can build my own financial fortress," I say fiercely. "I need my medical degree so I can stand on my own two feet. If I run crying to Alistair every time a street thug threatens me, I will never truly be independent. I want to handle Silas myself. If I can control him, I protect my friends on my own terms. But I need your help to do it."
Dr. Aris studies my face. He reads the absolute determination burning in my eyes.
"You are a very different kind of woman, Emily," Dr. Aris says softly.
Then, a heavy, dark shadow settles over his features. His jaw tightens into a severe, unforgiving line. The temperature at the table seems to drop ten degrees. He looks profoundly displeased.
My heart gives a hard, painful thump against my ribs. I miscalculated. I insulted his medical ethics by asking him to reward a criminal who previously kidnapped him. The anxiety claws at my throat. I push my chair back slightly, ready to retreat.
"I apologize," I say quickly. I lower my head, breaking eye contact. "I should not have asked you to compromise your principles. Forget I brought it up. I will find another way to deal with him."
"Stop," Dr. Aris commands.
I look up.
"I did not say no," Dr. Aris says. The severe line of his jaw relaxes just a fraction. "I will admit Silas’s mother to the surgical ward. I will perform the operation."
A massive wave of relief crashes over me. The tight knot in my chest unravels. "Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me."
"Do not thank me yet," Dr. Aris interrupts. He raises a single finger in the air. "First of all, it’s not entirely because of you that I’m doing this. When Silas kidnapped me, I spent a few days with his mother. I saw that the woman was actually sick and in desperate need of medical attention. So my heart went out to her. Secondly, I will do this favor for you, but it comes with conditions. Strict conditions."
I swallow hard. The cautious, wary part of my brain activates immediately. "What kind of conditions?"
"I will tell you after the surgery is completely finished and the matter is settled," Dr. Aris replies. His tone leaves absolutely no room for debate. "Do we have an agreement?"
It is a blind deal. It is a terrifying proposition. But securing a leash on Silas Hunt guarantees Aunt Cherry’s safety. I nod my head firmly.
"We have an agreement," I say.
Dr. Aris smiles. The warm, distinguished aura returns to his face instantly. He checks the gold watch on his wrist and reaches into the inner pocket of his gray suit jacket. He pulls out a sleek leather wallet.
"I should get back to the university," Dr. Aris says. "Let me take care of the bill."
"No," I say immediately. I reach across the table and press my hand flat against the tablecloth. "I insisted on treating you today to thank you for securing my university admission. I am paying for this lunch."
Dr. Aris chuckles. He puts his wallet away and stands up. He smooths the front of his tailored jacket. "You are incredibly stubborn, Emily. Very well. I will let you handle the check. I need to visit the restroom before I head out to the lobby. Please excuse me for a moment."
"Take your time," I reply.
I watch him walk away, navigating the elegant dining room with confident strides. I feel a deep sense of accomplishment. I secured my education, I found a broker for my cardiology formula, and I just bought the ultimate leverage over my worst enemy. Everything is finally falling into place.
I catch the eye of a passing waiter. He is a tall, thin man with slicked back dark hair and an arrogant posture. He walks over to my table, carrying a slim, black leather folder.
"Your check, Miss," the waiter says politely. He places the folder gently onto the white linen.
I reach into the pocket of my denim jacket. My fingers wrap around the thick stack of bills I scraped together this morning. Six hundred dollars. It is my entire safety net. I pull the money out, keeping it hidden in my palm.
"Thank you," I say. I open the leather cover.
My eyes scan the printed receipt. They drop past the charges for the truffles, the imported sparkling water, and the poached pear dessert. They land on the bold total printed at the very bottom of the page.
The air instantly leaves my lungs.
My fingers go completely numb. The black leather folder suddenly feels like it weighs fifty pounds. A cold, prickling sweat breaks out across the back of my neck. I blink rapidly, staring at the ink, praying the numbers will magically rearrange themselves. They remain exactly the same.
I look up at the waiter. My voice comes out as a weak, raspy whisper.
"Excuse me," I say. "How much is the total?"
The waiter offers a practiced, tight smile. "The total is one thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight dollars, Miss."
I look down at my hand. The small stack of bills feels completely pathetic. Six hundred dollars. I am short by over a thousand dollars. I am sitting in the most exclusive restaurant in the city, surrounded by billionaires, and I cannot even afford the appetizers. Complete, paralyzing panic sets in.