Page 21 of Never Quite Gone

Dad's silence filled the room like smoke, eventually dissipating into resigned acceptance.

Will stayed, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against the table. “Alex,” he shifted into his CFO stance, “the board's not just worried about standard development risks. Vale's been working the back channels, getting investors questioning our sudden hard-on for healthcare infrastructure.”

My teeth clenched at Vale's name. “What's that snake telling them?”

“He's spinning it as poor resource allocation, hinting at inadequate oversight.” Will pulled out his tablet, its blue light harsh in the dimming boardroom. “But here's the thing – the investors aren't actually worried about the project's numbers. They're side-eyeing your personal involvement, especially how much time you're spending with the Emergency Department. With Monroe.”

“His department's ground zero for the construction impact. Of course he's involved in planning.”

“I know that,” Will's fingers went to his tie, straightening it with mechanical precision. “And I've got your back with the board. But we need to play this smart. Vale's got the hospitalboard eating out of his hand, and if he convinces them there's something shady going on...”

“He won't.” The words came out like steel. “The plans are solid, the financials are bulletproof, and Monroe's involvement is completely above board.”

The boardroom's usual symphony of quarterly projections and market analyses faded into white noise as my phone lit up with increasingly urgent texts from Marcus. Vale was making his moves with the precision of a chess master, gathering support for his emergency board meeting. His official concern was Eli's stability – the grieving widower, the questionable judgment calls, the odd behavior around the development project.

Will's tablet slid across the polished mahogany, interrupting my dark thoughts. “Check this out,” he muttered, voice tight with worry.

The article outlined Vale's proposed neurology expansion. Ice spread through my veins as I read the details – the wing he wanted demolished was the same one with those conveniently missing records, the same space that felt wrong every time I walked past it.

“The renovation plans,” Will said, rubbing his temples like he was fighting off a monster headache, “they're practically identical to some old blueprints I found buried in the archives. But that's impossible, right? Vale couldn't have seen those. They're sealed.”

“What else did you find down there?”

“Nothing concrete.” Will's voice strained with frustration. “But I keep getting this weird feeling in my gut, like we've seen this movie before. Like it ended in a fucking tragedy.”

The executive boardroom hummed with the white noise of power – the rustle of custom suits, the soft tap of pens on leather portfolios, the quiet murmur of billion-dollar decisions being made over coffee gone cold. My phone buzzed against the polished mahogany for the tenth time in an hour, Marcus's name flashing with increasing urgency. Vale had been busy, scheduling private meetings with hospital board members like a spider weaving its web.

“I've been reviewing his research proposals,” Will muttered, rubbing his temples like he was fighting off the mother of all migraines. His perfect Windsor knot had come slightly loose, a tell I'd learned meant he was wrestling with something bigger than quarterly projections. “His work on near-death experiences, consciousness persisting beyond clinical death – it's not just theoretical anymore.”

Dad's voice cut through the corporate chess match, calling for final budget approvals. His steel-gray eyes missed nothing, decades of boardroom battles evident in the way he tracked every shifting alliance and power play. Just another Tuesday morning empire-building for him, while something darker churned beneath the surface.

The meeting wrapped with the usual exchange of fake smiles and firm handshakes. Will hung back, his Italian leather shoes leaving scuff marks on the carpet as he paced. The morning sun caught the edge of his cufflinks, sending sharp reflections across the wood panels like warning signals.

“There's something else,” he said once we were alone, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “About Dr. Monroe. When I see him in those hospital corridors...” He trailed off, looking lost in the filtered sunlight.

“Will—“

“I know it sounds crazy as fuck,” he cut me off, running both hands through his perfectly styled hair. “Trust me, Iknow.” His tie got another adjustment, the gesture almost compulsive now. “But Vale's obsession with the hospital's history isn't just some academic circle-jerk. He's hunting for something specific.”

“And finding more than he bargained for.” My phone lit up again – Vale had just requested access to the hospital's oldest archives. The timestamp on his email made my stomach clench: 3:33 AM, the kind of hour when bad decisions and buried truths tend to surface.

“We should delay the renovation plans,” Will suggested, hisCFO instincts warring with something deeper in his eyes. “Buy some breathing room until we figure out Vale's endgame.”

The leather of my chair creaked as I stood, gathering reports that suddenly felt meaningless. “We can't delay. Every day gives Vale another chance to poison the board against Eli, to push his agenda through while everyone's looking the wrong way.”

Will's hand shot out, catching my sleeve with surprising force. The morning light caught his face at an odd angle, throwing shadows that didn't quite match reality. “Alex... these dreams I've been having. About the hospital, about Dr. Monroe...” His voice cracked slightly. “About betrayal. They're not just stress and too much scotch, are they?”

I met my brother's gaze across the polished mahogany that separated us like a moat. The air felt heavy with possibilities and dangers neither of us fully understood. “Focus on the business angle,” I said finally, keeping my voice steady despite the storm building behind my ribs. “The rest... the rest will make sense when it needs to.”

The setting sun painted my office in shades of blood and gold, turning the scattered blueprints into abstract art across the conference table. Marcus and I had been at this for hours, surrounded by the weapons of modern warfare – development plans, financial projections, environmental impact studies. Each document another piece of armor against whatever Vale had planned.

“The financials are solid,” Marcus said, his eyes scanning spreadsheets with the kind of focus that came from decades of high-stakes corporate games. The blue light from his tablet cast strange shadows across his face, making him look older than his expensive suit suggested.

He set the tablet down with deliberate care, like someone about to deliver bad news. “Sofia Martinez called.” The words hung in the air like smoke. “She's worried about Eli. Says he's beenzoning out during procedures. Having these moments where he just... disappears inside his head.”

My jaw clenched hard enough to make my teeth ache. The half-empty whiskey glass on my desk looked too tempting by half. “If Vale pushes too hard at this board meeting...” The words died in my throat, replaced by images of careers destroyed by corporate warfare, lives ruined by the kind of power plays that made Wall Street look tame.

“The hospital board will need actual evidence to question Dr. Monroe's competency,” Marcus reminded me, ever the voice of reason in the chaos. “Vale can't just pull accusations out of his ass without proof.”

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