“So What If Your Project Is Worth Billions?” My Sister Yelled After Her Kid Destroyed My Laptop

Forty years as an ER nurse had taught me a lot about people, about reading situations, about thinking fast under pressure.

“And we need it in the next few minutes or Richard will get suspicious.”

An idea formed, risky, possibly illegal, but necessary.

“Do you have access to the security cameras?”

Jenkins nodded slowly.

“The recordings are kept in the security office but I’m friends with Marcus, one of the guards. If I told him I needed to review footage for a potential incident report…”

“Do it. Pull footage from Diana’s room for the past 72 hours. Focus on times when Richard was alone with her or with that Cassidy woman. And I need you to do something else.”

I pulled out my phone.

“I’m going to go back in that room and tell them I’m ready to sign, but I’m going to stall, ask questions, make Richard explain everything in detail. I want you to have someone review Diana’s current sedation levels right now, without Dr. Carlson knowing. Is there another doctor you trust?”

“Dr. Patel,”

Jenkins said immediately.

“He’s the head of neurology and he’s not on Dr. Carlson’s service. He’s honest, old school. He doesn’t tolerate any irregularities.”

“Get him to look at Diana now. And Jenkins, record everything. If Richard and Cassidy say anything incriminating while I’m in there, we need it documented.”

She nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes.

“The room has audio monitoring for patient safety. If I activate it from the nurse’s station, everything said in that room will be recorded.”

“Do it. I’ll give you 20 minutes instead of 10. Tell Richard I needed medical clarification about the forms.”

Twenty minutes later, I walked back into Diana’s room, my heart pounding but my face composed.

Years of keeping calm during codes in the ER served me well. Richard stood immediately, that false concern plastered on his face.

“Martha, finally. Are you ready?”

“Almost,”

I said, picking up the papers.

“I just need to understand a few things first. As a nurse, I need to be sure we’re doing the right thing.”

I watched Richard’s eye twitch. Cassidy moved closer to him.

And I noticed for the first time that she was holding his hand, not hiding it anymore.

“What is there to understand?”

Richard said, an edge creeping into his voice.

“The doctors have been clear. Diana is brain dead. There’s no hope.”

“I know that’s what Dr. Carlson said,”

I replied carefully, pretending to read the documents.

“But I was wondering about second opinions. Diana always said she’d want every option explored. Maybe we should consult with another neurologist before we—”

“There’s no time for that,”

Cassidy cut in, then caught herself.

“I mean, what Mr. Thornton means is that it would only prolong the inevitable and cause more suffering.”

“Cassidy’s right,”

Richard said quickly.

“And frankly, Martha, the costs are mounting. Every day on these machines is costing thousands. Diana wouldn’t want to drain her estate on futility.”

There it was, the first slip. He was thinking about her estate, about money.

“Of course,”

I said softly.

“I just want to make sure I understand the medical situation completely. You said brain aneurysm, right? But I’ve seen aneurysm patients before. Usually, there’s a CT scan, an angio. I’d love to see Diana’s imaging just to understand what happened to my baby sister.”

Richard’s face was getting redder.

“The scans were done. They showed massive hemorrhage. Dr. Carlson has them.”

“I’d still like to see them,”

I pressed.

“And I’d like to understand the timeline. She collapsed at home, you said. What was she doing when it happened?”

“She was—”

Richard started, then paused.

“She was upstairs. I heard a thud.”

“What time was this?”

“Around 9:00 in the morning.”

“And you called 911 immediately?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Well, I checked on her first, made sure she was breathing.”

“How long before you called?”

“I don’t know, Martha. Maybe 10 minutes. I was in shock.”

“10 minutes is a long time when someone is having a brain bleed,”

I said, watching him carefully.

“Every second counts.”

Cassidy squeezed his hand.

“He did the best he could under terrible circumstances.”

“I’m sure he did,”

I said.

“Cassidy, you’ve been so supportive. How long have you known Richard?”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I—through the hospital, as I mentioned, right as the grief counselor.”

“Which agency are you with? I’d love to send them a commendation for your dedication.”

“That’s not necessary,”

Richard said sharply.

“Martha, these questions are irrelevant. The only relevant thing is Diana’s condition, which is hopeless. Now, are you going to sign these papers or not?”

I looked at my sister lying so still in that bed. The machines were breathing for her, monitoring her, and keeping her alive despite someone’s best efforts to the contrary.

“I just need one more thing,”

I said.

“I want to say goodbye properly. Alone. Just 5 minutes with my sister, and then I’ll sign.”

“We’ve all said our goodbyes,”

Richard protested.

“Please,”

I said, letting my voice crack with real emotion.

“She’s the only family I have left. Just 5 minutes.”

He couldn’t refuse that without seeming like a monster.

“Fine. 5 minutes. We’ll wait outside.”

As they left, Richard whispered something to Cassidy that I couldn’t quite hear, but I saw the way his eyes went to the papers on the bedside table. I saw him touch the pen as if to make sure it was still there.

The moment they were gone, I went to Diana’s bedside and took her hand.

“Hold on, baby girl,”

I whispered.

“I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

And then I saw it. The smallest flutter of her eyelids, so subtle it could have been my imagination, but I knew it wasn’t.

Jenkins had been right. Before my five minutes were up, Jenkins slipped into the room.

“Dr. Patel reviewed her chart. He’s furious. Her sedation levels are three times what they should be for a patient in her condition. He’s already ordered the medications reduced, and Martha, we pulled the security footage.”

She held up a tablet, and I watched 72 hours of Richard’s sins play out in fast-forward. I saw him adjusting IV bags when nurses weren’t looking.

I saw him and Cassidy kissing in the hallway. I saw him meeting with Dr. Carlson in a parking garage, handing over a thick envelope.

And most damningly, footage from the morning Diana collapsed. It showed Richard entering their bedroom at 8:00 a.m. with a syringe, with Diana visible through the doorway, still asleep in bed.

Thirty minutes later, Richard was calling 911, claiming his wife had just collapsed.

“He injected her with something,”

I breathed.

“He caused this.”

“Dr. Patel has already called hospital security and the police,”

Jenkins said.

“They’re on their way. But Martha, Richard’s going to realize something’s wrong soon. We need to keep him here.”

“I’ll handle it,”

I said grimly.

I walked out to the waiting area where Richard and Cassidy stood close together, whispering. When they saw me, they sprang apart, but not quickly enough.

“I’m ready to sign,”

I said, my voice hollow. Richard’s face lit up with triumph.

“Thank God, Martha. You’re doing the right thing. Diana would be grateful.”

We walked back into the room together, all three of us. I picked up the pen and held it over the first signature line.

Then I looked up at Richard.

“Before I sign, I just have one question. When did you start planning to kill my sister?”

The room went silent. Richard’s face drained of color. Cassidy gasped.

“What are you talking about?”

Richard stammered.