Chapter 4 - The Facade of Samantha Callahan
The heavy oak doors of the surgical waiting area swung open with a loud thud.
The sharp, rhythmic clicking of high heels echoed down the sterile hallway.
Through the small rectangular window of the consultation room, I saw Samantha approaching the main reception desk.
She was dressed impeccably in a tailored wool overcoat, her hair perfectly styled, holding a designer leather tote.
She wore oversized designer sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead.
Her face was painted with an expression of frantic, theatrical concern.
“Is Nathan Callahan here?” her voice carried through the corridor, pitched high and dramatic.
“I'm his wife! My father-in-law was rushed in for emergency surgery!”
Vance immediately placed a heavy hand over the documents scattered across the table.
“Keep your composure, Nathan,” Vance whispered sharply, his eyes locked onto mine.
“If she knows that you have this file, she will execute an immediate liquidation of the Delaware accounts.”
“The money will be wired through digital currency exchanges before the sun sets, and you will never recover a single dime.”
“Can you play the grieving, confused husband for the next two hours?”
I looked down at my father’s trembling signature on the yellow legal pad.
I thought about him standing in my kitchen, staring at his dirty work boots, swallowing his pride while my wife mocked him.
A cold, calculating armor solidified inside my chest.
The pain and shock were still there, but they were now buried beneath a towering wall of icy resolve.
“I can do it,” I said between clenched teeth.
I quickly helped Vance gather the papers and shove them back into the thick envelope.
Vance slipped the envelope inside his briefcase and clicked the brass locks shut.
“I will exit through the south corridor,” Vance murmured.
“Keep her occupied here.”
“Do not sign anything she puts in front of you, no matter what excuse she makes.”
I took a deep breath, stepped out of the consultation room, and walked toward the waiting lobby.
The moment Samantha spotted me, she let out a soft, theatrical cry and threw her arms around my neck.
Her expensive perfume invaded my senses, smelling artificial and suffocating.
“Oh, Nathan, thank God!” she exclaimed, clutching my shoulders.
“I woke up and saw your note on the counter! I rushed over as fast as I could!”
Her embrace felt like the cold coils of a snake.
I forced my arms to wrap around her waist, patting her back with deliberate, wooden numbness.
“He’s still in the operating room,” I said, keeping my voice flat and drained of energy.
“The surgeon said it’s a ruptured aneurysm.”
Samantha pulled back, looking up into my face with faux tenderness, though her eyes were darting around the room.
She was scanning the chairs, the tables, and the nurse's station.
She was looking for something.
“That's just terrible, sweetheart,” she said, her voice dropping into a hushed, sorrowful tone.
“I feel so guilty about what happened the other day in the kitchen.”
“You know how stressed I've been with the household budget.”
“I was just frustrated, Nathan, but I never wished any harm upon your father.”
The brazen audacity of her lie made my jaw clench so tightly that a nerve in my cheek twitched.
“It doesn't matter now,” I lied smoothly.
“All that matters is whether he survives the surgery.”
Samantha touched my forearm, her fingers tightening slightly through my jacket.
“Did he... did he manage to speak before they sedated him?” she asked casually.
Too casually.
Her gaze was laser-focused on my eyes, watching for any flicker of reaction.
“The paramedics said he was unconscious when they loaded him,” I answered, staring directly into her calculating eyes.
“Why do you ask?”
A visible wave of relief washed over her features, though she tried desperately to disguise it with a sigh.
“Oh, no reason,” she said quickly, waving a dismissive hand.
“I just wondered if he left any final wishes... or personal belongings.”
“Sometimes people leave papers or instructions behind when they know their time is near.”
“No,” I said, feeling the rage simmer beneath my ribs like molten iron.
“Nothing. Just the clothes on his back.”
Samantha nodded slowly, her mind clearly racing three steps ahead.
“Well, we need to prepare for the worst, Nathan,” she said softly, taking a seat beside me.
“If he doesn't pull through, there will be so many administrative details to handle.”
“His bills, his estate, his land taxes.”
“You're going to need someone clear-headed to take care of all that paperwork so you can grieve in peace.”
I looked at the woman I had shared a bed with for seven years.
May you like
For seven years, I thought she was my partner, my companion, my family.
Now, looking at her polished smile, all I saw was a predator waiting for an old lion to die so she could strip his bones clean.
