Chapter 217

Serena's POV

The two bodyguards exchanged skeptical glances.

"He needs to get to hospital immediately," I pressed, letting my voice shake. "If he has a stroke or something, every minute counts. You want that liability on your hands?"

Without waiting for their corporate security protocol to kick in, I grabbed the sleeve of the nearest guard and pulled him inside. They found Jace exactly as I'd described-completely unresponsive on the sofa.

"Mr. Gillard?" The taller guard's voice boomed through the apartment.

Jace's forehead creased at the sound, but his eyes remained firmly shut despite his obvious struggle to open them.

"What are you waiting for, a medical degree?" I snapped. "New Haven General's ER is five minutes away. If he has a brain bleed or an aneurysm, that's the difference between life and death!"

Finally convinced by Jace's dead weight, one guard moved to lift him. I grabbed my bag, ready to follow.

"Ms. Sinclair," the other guard blocked my path, "our orders are to keep you here."

"Right, because I'm going to make a break for it with two armed guards and half of Manhattan's traffic cameras watching?" I countered. "I'm coming to the hospital. What if they need his medical history or insurance information? We can deal with your orders after we make sure he's not dying."

Without waiting for permission, I rushed after the guard carrying Jace. The other had no choice but to follow as we headed for the private elevator to the underground garage.

The black Cadillac Escalade cut through the evening traffic, with me wedged in the back seat between Jace Gillard and one of his security detail, while another drove. I could see Jace fighting the effects of the Ambien, his usual sharp features twisted in confusion. I knew from experience the sedative would only last a couple of hours at most - time wasn't on my side.

My phone felt slick in my grip as anxiety twisted my stomach. We were heading straight for New Haven General, taking Dona Tartt Avenue at a speed that made me nervous.

The SUV suddenly slammed to a stop. Pure instinct had me steadying Jace before he could pitch forward, the last thing I needed was a concussion complicating things.

"What's the holdup?" the guard beside me snapped.

"Some jackass in a Lincoln ran the light," our driver growled. "Almost clipped us."

"Keep moving. Mr. Gillard needs medical attention," the guard ordered, his voice thick with irritation.

But as the Escalade prepared to roll forward, a black Mercedes appeared, blocking our path. Two men in tailored suits stepped out, positioning themselves directly in front of us.

"I'll deal with this," the guard muttered, checking his concealed carry holster before stepping out.

A text from Atticus popped up on my screen: "Get out of the car. Now!"

My heart pounded as I watched him walk away, my palm sweating against the door handle. The second he was clear, I yanked the door open and ran. I heard the driver's door slam and footsteps on the pavement, but I was already diving into the waiting Mercedes. As we peeled away, I caught the guard's furious expression in my side mirror.

Safe in Atticus Thorne's car, I finally let out the breath I'd been holding, though adrenaline still had my hands trembling. Atticus sat beside me, wearing his polite smile. I shot him an annoyed look - this wasn't some easy game to gloat over.

"You can't blame me for admiring your handiwork, Serena," he said, adjusting his tie. "Slipping Lucas Harrington's surveillance is no small feat, even for you."

I didn't respond. Nothing about this had been simple - it only worked because Jace trusted me completely. I'd betrayed that trust, and the guilt sat heavy in my chest. When my phone lit up with another FaceTime call, I declined it without looking.

Less than an hour later, I was boarding Atticus's Gulfstream G650 bound for Portland. He took me straight to Riverside Medical Center, the kind of private hospital that caters exclusively to Portland's elite.

"Let's head up," Atticus Thorne said, pressing the elevator button.

I eyed him carefully. "How do I know this isn't a setup?"

"You wouldn't have taken an plane to Portland with me if you didn't already have some faith in what I'm saying, Serena." There was that characteristic Thorne confidence.

*It's true, I made my decision a long time ago. Let's go all in.*

The hospital was one of those ultra-luxe private facilities where elite came to recover in discretion. Following Atticus through the corridors, I couldn't shake the weight of who we were about to meet-his grandfather, Silas Thorne. The man was practically a ghost; I'd never even seen his photo in media.

I'd figured a man reportedly fighting stage 4 cancer wouldn't be much of a power player anymore. People facing mortality usually show their cards. But...

The moment we stepped into the private suite, I froze. Instead of the expected hospice scene, I found myself facing a man who looked more like a semi-retired CEO than a terminal patient. He could've easily passed for early sixties, sitting there in a tailored robe, newspapers folded beside him. My mind raced. Had Lucas's intelligence team dropped the ball, or was this part of something bigger?

"Miss Sinclair expected the standard end-stage cancer patient setup, I see." Silas's voice carried that unmistakable politician's tone.

"The reports were quite convincing," I kept my voice neutral.

"All carefully planted." He didn't bother with pretense.

"So..." he continued, "I've been playing the long game here on the East Coast while everyone's been watching our West Coast operations."

I met his gaze. "If you've orchestrated something this complex, Mr. Thorne, why show your hand now?" In negotiation like this, false naivety would only backfire.

"Let's just say I've learned to trust Atticus's instincts about people." His words carried that distinctive mix of authenticity and stateliness.

"What exactly are you looking for from StarRiver Group?" I cut to the chase.

"This isn't about demands, Miss Sinclair. Consider it more of a... mutual understanding. When the dust settles after the Q4 earnings call, you'll find the Thorne family can be quite generous to its allies."

"I appreciate the clarity, Mr. Thorne." I kept my tone professional, but internally, my radar was blaring. In financial ecosystem, "mutual understanding" was just another term for mutually assured destruction.