Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
Elena laughed, a sharp, hysterical sound. "You're insane, Harrison. You can't just revoke a proxy without the patient's explicit, sound-of-mind consent! Alexander is a vegetable!"
"He was," a voice rasped.
The adjoining door to the VIP suite opened.
Rosa pushed a specialized motorized wheelchair into the room. Sitting in it, dressed in a sharp black suit that draped loosely over his thin frame, was Alexander Vance.
He couldn't walk yet. His hands shook violently. But his head was held high, and his eyes—sharp, brilliant, and full of absolute fury—locked directly onto his wife.
Elena stumbled backward as if she had been shot. Marcus let out a pathetic, suffocated gasp.
Alexander pressed a button on his chair, moving himself slightly forward. He looked at the two people who had tortured him for four years.
"I... heard... everything," Alexander spoke, his voice rough, slow, but incredibly clear. "Every lie. Every kiss. Every plan to kill me."
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Elena fell to her knees. "Alex... Alex, please, you don't understand. The doctors said you were gone! We were just trying to spare you the pain!"
"You... are... the pain," Alexander whispered.
