Blood in the Frosting Chapter 2

Richard Kensington’s smile froze. The mask slipped, revealing a calculating, cold gaze.

"Mr. Hayes, what’s done is done. A million dollars is more than enough for you to remarry and start a new family. You have to look at the bigger picture. As men, we can't let ourselves get hung up on—"

"Get out," I roared, the sound tearing my throat raw.

He didn't flinch. "Your son is a monster. He deserves to rot in a cell for the rest of his miserable life."

Richard scoffed, a soft, patronizing sound. "Don't let grief make you impulsive, Mr. Hayes. When you change your mind, my lawyers will be waiting."

He tossed the envelope onto the metal table and walked out.

To people like the Kensingtons, human life was just a line item on a balance sheet.

A few days later, I was released on bail and went straight to the ICU to see Lily.

When my mother-in-law, Helen, saw me, she completely dissolved. I understood her agony intimately. My own parents had passed away years ago. Sarah was her only child, and Helen had practically raised the kids alongside us. Losing Sarah meant the anchor of her entire existence had been ripped away.

Looking at her bloodshot, swollen eyes, I stepped forward and held her frail shoulders.

"Mom. Go home and get some sleep. I'll sit with her."

The moment Helen opened the waiting room door to leave, a swarm of bodies pushed through. Microphones and cameras were suddenly shoved into my face. Local tabloids and bottom-feeding news bloggers.

"Mr. Hayes! We heard the Kensington family offered a massive settlement in exchange for a leniency statement! Are you going to take it?"

I looked at the young female reporter holding the microphone. She had such a fresh, innocent face, yet she was asking the most soulless question imaginable.

I shoved the microphone away. "Leave. This is an Intensive Care Unit."

Another reporter flanked me. "Mr. Hayes, are you holding out for more money? Is a million not enough?"

I batted his phone out of his hand. Helen rushed back, placing herself between me and the vultures, her voice cracking. "Please! My granddaughter is fighting for her life in there. Have some decency!"

The microphones instantly pivoted to Helen.

"Ma'am, the deceased was your daughter, correct?" A mic was practically jammed against her lips. "Sources say your daughter stepped off the curb outside the crosswalk. How do you justify demanding a settlement when she was at fault?"

A white-hot blinding fury took over. I shoved the reporters back, placing myself in front of Helen.

"Get out! All of you, get the hell out of here!" I screamed. "Why aren't you outside that bastard's house asking him why he drives like a maniac? Are you trying to kill what's left of my family?"

The first reporter stood her ground, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the scoop.

"Mr. Hayes, striking a nerve, are we? Isn't it true that you—"

Before she could finish, the alarms inside Lily’s room began to shriek.

A code blue. Doctors and nurses sprinted down the hall, violently shoving the reporters aside to get through the doors.

I spun on the press, my voice dropping to a lethal, trembling register.

"If she dies... I will remember every single one of your faces."

A charge nurse turned around, her expression fierce. "This is a hospital! If you vultures aren't out of here in three seconds, I'm calling security and having you arrested for trespassing!"

They finally scrambled away like cockroaches.

I grabbed the nurse's arm before she could rush inside. "What's happening? How is she?"

Her face tightened with professional grimness. "Mr. Hayes, the impact caused severe internal hemorrhaging. We are doing everything we can, but you need to prepare yourself. And please, keep those people away. Her vitals cannot handle the stress."

As she spoke, there was a heavy thud behind me.

Helen had collapsed onto the linoleum floor.

Miraculously, both Helen and Lily were stabilized. Hours later, I was sitting alone on the hard plastic chair in the desolate hallway.

The sharp click of expensive heels echoed down the corridor, stopping right in front of me. I looked up. It was an impeccably dressed woman in her late forties.

Eleanor Kensington. She looked down at me with an expression of aristocratic disgust.

"Mr. Hayes," she began, her tone clipped and icy. "I suggest you think very carefully. A million dollars is a windfall people of your pedigree will never see in ten lifetimes."

She glanced toward the ICU doors and sneered. "A few amateur reporters show up, and your family falls apart. The fragility of the lower classes is truly pathetic."