Chapter 13 - The Collapse of the Patriarch
The private drawing room of the Bellamy mansion smelled faintly of old brandy and expensive pipe tobacco.
When Clara and I pushed open the heavy double doors, we found Richard Bellamy slumped sideways in a high-backed leather armchair, his breathing shallow and irregular.
My mother was kneeling beside him, sobbing hysterically as she gripped his limp, cold hand.
"Richard! Please, look at me! Wake up!" she cried, her voice echoing off the wood-paneled walls.
I strode across the room in long, decisive strides, pulling my phone out to dial emergency services, while Clara rushed to my mother's side to comfort her.
"An ambulance is five minutes away," I said, putting the phone to my ear as I stared down at the man who had ruled our family with an iron fist for decades.
Even now, stricken and frail, Richard Bellamy looked stubborn, his brow furrowed as if arguing with death itself.
"Ethan..." my mother choked out, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes.
"He... he read the finalized liquidation reports of the family trust ten minutes ago. His heart... he couldn't take it."
I looked down at the mahogany side table.
There lay a set of financial documents detailing the complete dissolution of the personal Bellamy family assets to cover corporate debts.
I hadn't forced the liquidation of their personal estate—Apex Capital's legal team had merely executed the standard liability protocol required by federal audit laws.
Yet seeing it spelled out on paper—seeing his entire life's work stripped away down to the last penny—had broken the old man's indomitable spirit.
"He's still breathing," I said quietly, stepping closer and looking down at my father's pale face.
"He's not going to die today. I won't let him escape that easily."
Ten minutes later, paramedics rushed into the drawing room with a stretcher, loading Richard Bellamy into heavy medical gear before wheeling him rapidly out toward the front entrance.
My mother scrambled to follow them, turning back at the doorway to look at me with a desperate, pleading expression.
"Are you coming, Ethan?"
I stood in the center of the drawing room, my hands resting calmly in my pockets.
"Go ahead, Mom. I'll meet you at St. Jude's Hospital once I finish reviewing the morning market reports."
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Her face fell, a look of profound heartbreak crossing her features, but she didn't argue.
She turned and hurried out the door after the medical team.
