Chapter 2 - The Paramedic and the Paperwork
Back on the cold marble floor of the foyer, the chaos was reaching its peak.
The blood from the cut on Daniel’s eyebrow had pooled against his cheek, creating a dramatic, terrifying scene. Grace kept her firm pressure on the towel, her fingers cool and reassuring against his skin.
"The ambulance is four minutes out, Mr. Whitfield," Grace whispered, her phone lying on the floor beside her on speaker mode, where the 911 dispatcher’s voice was calmly giving instructions. "Keep your eyes open. Stay focused on my voice."
At the top of the stairs, Vanessa was frantic—not with care, but with phone calls.
"No, Richard, you don't understand!" Vanessa was shouting into her sleek gold iPhone, her voice ringing down the high ceilings of the foyer. "He fell! He’s completely unconscious on the floor! If he has a brain injury or goes into a coma, who has power of attorney?! Did the board sign off on the executive trust paperwork yesterday?!"
Daniel lay completely still beneath Grace's hands, his breath shallow, his body relaxed, listening to every single word echoing down the stairs.
Power of attorney? Executive trust paperwork?
Vanessa hadn't asked the dispatcher if he was breathing. She hadn't asked if he was bleeding internally. She was calling Richard Vance—Whitfield Development’s chief legal counsel and a man Daniel had trusted for over a decade.
Vanessa hurried down the remaining stairs, her heels clicking loudly against the marble.
"Grace, move out of the way!" Vanessa ordered, attempting to push Grace aside. "The paramedics need space! Let me hold his head!"
"Do not move him, Miss Cole," Grace said firmly, her voice dropping into an authoritative tone that took Vanessa completely by surprise. "If he has a cervical spinal injury, moving his head could paralyze him. Keep pressure on the wound and stay back."
Vanessa glared at the maid. "How dare you speak to me like that! I am his fiancée!"
"And I am the person currently keeping him from bleeding out on your floor," Grace replied without looking up, her eyes locked on Daniel’s face. "Look at me, Mr. Whitfield. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
Slightly, almost imperceptibly, Daniel squeezed Grace’s hand.
Grace let out a tiny, shuddering breath of relief. "Good. That’s good. Help is coming."
Within three minutes, the heavy oak front doors flew open. Two paramedics rushed inside carrying trauma bags and a stretcher.
"Thirty-seven-year-old male, fall from height, laceration to the forehead, brief loss of consciousness," Grace reported rapidly to the lead paramedic, stepping back smoothly to give them room while keeping her hand on Daniel's wrist until they took over.
Vanessa immediately shoved her way to the front. "I’m his fiancée! He was walking down the stairs and just collapsed! I think he had a stroke or a brain aneurysm! Is he going to be brain-damaged?!"
The lead paramedic checked Daniel’s pupils with a penlight. Daniel allowed his eyes to roll slightly, playing the role of a confused, concussed victim perfectly.
"Pupils are equal and reactive," the paramedic announced. "BP is 120 over 80. Stable. Let's get him on the gurney and move him to Charlotte Memorial for a full CT scan."
As they lifted Daniel onto the stretcher, Vanessa reached for her designer handbag.
"I’ll ride in the front of the ambulance!" Vanessa told the driver.
"Only one family member in the back," the driver replied.
Vanessa looked at her phone, which was buzzing furiously with a text from Richard Vance. She hesitated, looking at Daniel on the gurney, then down at her phone screen.
"Actually," Vanessa said quickly, smoothing her hair. "I’ll drive my car behind you. I need to handle a few urgent family phone calls first."
Grace stood near the doorway, her apron stained with Daniel’s blood, holding her hands tightly together.
As the paramedics wheeled Daniel past her toward the open doors, Daniel reached out from beneath the blanket and caught Grace’s sleeve.
"Grace..." Daniel muttered, his voice hoarse, playing the concussed patient. "Come... with me."
Vanessa gasped. "Daniel! What are you talking about?! She’s the maid! She needs to clean up this blood!"
Daniel didn't let go of Grace’s sleeve. His blue eyes locked onto Grace’s face with a quiet, desperate intensity that went far beyond his act.
May you like
Grace looked at Vanessa, then down at Daniel’s hand on her arm.
"I’ll get my coat, Mr. Whitfield," Grace said softly. "I’m right behind you."
