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“How much more?”
His hesitation to reply is accompanied by him folding his hands formally in his lap.
“How. Much?”
“Hamilton-”
“Who the fuck is Hamilton?”
“The licensed and board-certified doctor Wes keeps on retainer for the estate.”
“Of course, the billionaire has his own personal doctor servant,” I mockingly state, fingers resuming their necklace fidgeting behavior.
“He does. And he also has his own onsite healthcare suite that’s comparable to that of a hospital, which is where Lauren’s currently being monitored.”
“How about I want her moved and monitored in a real hospital instead of some billionaire’s backyard playhouse?”
“Wes is a very…private…person-”
“Good for him.”
“Meaning he prefers everything handled inhouse.”
“I don’t care what he prefers. I’m her fucking daughter!”
“And he’s the man who gets the final say due to the contract she signed.”
This time my jaw falls in wordlessness.
“Her mysterious illness is the reason I’m here. Hamilton isn’t sure how long it’ll last, if it’ll last, if she’ll last, but believes that regardless of what may or may not happen, her family – her daughter – deserves the right to be there at her side. To take part in the discussion.”
“Him I like.”
“He convinced Wes-”
“Him I don’t.”
“-to have you come visit her. See if perhaps she improves simply from being surrounded by family.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then you and Wes can discuss the next steps for her care.”
There won’t be any discussion to be had.
She will be moved.
I don’t care if I have to max out a credit card to rent an industrial strength forklift to fucking move the entire building, she’s being held hostage in.
“I’m here to escort you to the estate.” Reaching for the tablet that’s lingering on the space between the two seats in front of us is followed by him offering it to me. “It’s a bit of a drive; however, it should provide you with plenty of time to review the non-disclosure agreement you’re going to need to sign before you’re granted access to the property.”
My lack of effort to take the device is attached to another displeased glare. “Excuse me?”
“Wes requires all personnel that pass through the gates to sign the document. It’s to ensure that nothing is said, done, repeated or reported outside the estate – especially to the media – that could potentially hurt him, the company, or the employees under his control.”
“Let me guess…he’s gonna wanna frisk me too?” I suggestively wet my lips to intentionally make J.T. squirm.
“He uh…um…” A nervous adjustment to his tie is given. “Probably not. No.” His head shake precedes him pushing onward. “The agreement is pretty straight forward. We had legal create it with the most simplistic and concise language to avoid as many misinterpretations as possible. It basically says no photographs – of him or the property – no social media posts – about him or the property – no location tags – featuring him or the property – and no disclosing of any information to anyone in verbal or written communication form regarding him, the property, or anything you may witness involving either of the aforementioned.”
