PART 2: The Pavilion That Fed on Miracles
The voice belonged to Augustus Carter.
William's father.
The founder of the Carter empire.
The man whose portrait hung in the main lobby of the hospital with a golden plaque underneath.
Augustus Carter.
Visionary.
Philanthropist.
Builder of the medical future.
That's what the plaque said.
But the whole world believed that Augustus had died two years earlier.
There were articles.
Speeches.
Minutes of silence.
Foundations named in his honor.
William had wept in front of his closed coffin.
And now his voice came out of the loudspeaker like that of a ghost that had never left.
William took a step towards the wall.
-Where are you?
Augustus laughed softly.
—Close. I was always close.
William turned towards Celeste.
—You knew it.
She closed her eyes.
"He was dying. The board needed stability. The foundation needed his mind."
—His mind?
William could barely speak.
—And what about his soul?
Celeste did not respond.
Walter squeezed Ethan's shoulders.
—They will not touch the child.
Augustus spoke with cruel patience:
"You're still protective, Reed. That made robbing Marina much harder."
The word "steal" made the room freeze.
William looked at the loudspeaker.
—What does that mean?
The door opened.
Two guards entered.
Behind them came a woman with a tray of syringes.
William stood in front of Ethan.
—Nobody touches him.
One of the guards seemed uncomfortable.
—The higher authorization overrides yours, sir.
William glared at him angrily.
—My father has no authority. He is legally dead.
"A temporary inconvenience," said Augustus.
Then a faint cry was heard in the hallway.
William turned around.
—Noah.
A nurse appeared pushing the baby's incubator.
Armed guards walked on both sides.
William took a step forward.
—What are you doing to my son?
Celeste paled.
—No. That wasn't part of the plan.
—Now it is —replied Augustus.
Ethan understood before the others.
—He wants me to do it again.
Walter grabbed him by the shoulders.
—No.
-Grandfather…
—You can't save everyone.
Ethan looked at Noah.
Then to William.
—But Mom tried.
Walter closed his eyes.
—And I buried her.
The phrase landed on Ethan with its full weight.
William looked at Walter in despair.
The richest man in Chicago, the owner of the hospital, the founder's son, seemed lost.
—Tell me what to do.
Walter took a deep breath.
—Where is Augustus?
Celeste spoke in a low voice:
—Sublevel four. Restricted life support ward.
Walter glared at her with hatred.
—Is it possible to get there?
"Yes," she said. "But the biometric lock was built with Marina's access profile."
Ethan felt cold.
Celeste continued:
—The system will recognize Ethan.
Walter went white.
—They used her even after she was dead.
Celeste had no defense.
The silence was enough.
They took the private elevator.
William carried Noah with trembling hands.
Walter was holding Ethan by the shoulder.
Celeste walked behind, like someone who had been descending into hell for years and only now understood the name of the place.
The elevator descended.
Floor after floor.
Lower than the public halls.
Lower than the operating rooms.
Lower down than the offices where donors drank champagne and talked about medical advances.
The gleaming hospital remained upstairs.
Below there was only metal.
Glass.
Cold lights.
And doors that didn't appear on any map.
When the doors opened, they were greeted by an icy breeze.
At the end of the corridor there was a glass wall.
Behind him, connected to enormous machines, lay Augustus Carter.
His body was almost unrecognizable.
Skin as thin as paper.
Sunken cheeks.
Tubes in the throat.
Wires in the chest.
Arms supported by metal brackets.
Machines breathing for him.
Filtering through it.
Forcing his heart to go on.
But his eyes were open.
And when she saw Ethan, she smiled.
He didn't look like a man who wanted to live.
He seemed like a man convinced that death was a lack of respect towards him.
Ethan placed his palm over the scanner.
A green light flashed through his fingers.
The system emitted a soft sound.
Access granted.
Walter whispered:
—Marina's blood is not your key.
Augustus answered from his bed, in a weak but clear voice:
—Blood has always been the first key.
The glass door opened.
Ethan entered slowly.
Every step felt heavy.
William entered carrying Noah in his arms.
Celeste stayed near the door.
For the first time, I looked at Augustus not as a leader, but as what he truly was.
A man who had turned medicine into a way of not letting go of power.
Ethan stopped beside the bed.
—You hurt my mom.
Augustus and blinked.
—I studied it.
—He killed her.
—I extended its usefulness.
William took a step towards his father.
—She was a girl.
Augustus looked at him with annoyance.
—It was an opportunity.
Ethan felt something close up inside him.
It wasn't anger.
It was clear.
He looked at the machines.
Then the old man's eyes.
—He wants me to bring it back.
Augustus smiled.
—Not back. Forward. My mind works. My body fails. You can correct that.
Walter spoke firmly:
—He can't. And he won't.
Augustus ignored the old man.
Her eyes remained fixed on Ethan.
—You collect bottles. You sleep under a leaky roof. You count coins to eat.
Her voice softened.
Falsely.
—I can give you everything.
Ethan swallowed hard.
For a second, he saw a warm house.
Food every day.
Medicines for Walter.
New shoes.
A room of one's own.
A dry bed.
A life without cold.
Augustus saw the doubt in his eyes.
—I can give you a future.
Ethan looked at Noah.
The baby was breathing weakly in William's arms.
Noah had not asked to be saved.
I hadn't used anyone.
I had not taken on someone else's life.
It was just shutting down too soon.
Augustus was different.
Augustus was not dying in peace.
He was dragging others towards death to prolong his shadow.
Ethan looked up.
—No.
The word was small.
But the atmosphere changed.
Augustus stopped smiling.
Celeste moved towards the control panel.
—William, if I cut off the private network, external security will be able to enter.
Augustus turned his eyes towards her.
—Celeste.
She froze.
For years, that voice had controlled her.
He had kept secrets.
He had signed documents.
He had justified horrors because there was always a reason.
Stability.
Science.
The legacy.
The future.
But then he looked at Noah.
The baby that Augustus was willing to use.
And something broke inside her.
"You would have used Noah," he said. "I would have used anyone."
He started entering codes.
The system rejected William's password.
The alarm bells started ringing.
Augustus breathed with difficulty.
—If I die, many people will fall with me.
William looked at him.
—Then let them fall.
Ethan felt Augustus's heartbeat.
Not with your fingers.
With something deeper.
An old pulse.
Tired.
Forced.
A life sustained by machines, money, fear, and other people's bodies.
He took a step towards the bed.
Walter grabbed him.
—Ethan, no.
"I'm not going to save him," she whispered.
—Then walk away.
Ethan shook his head.
—I have to let go of what he's stealing.
Walter understood.
And her face filled with terror.
—You don't have to do it.
Ethan looked at his grandfather.
—Mom couldn't choose.
Her eyes filled with tears.
-I do.
He placed a hand on Augustus's bed.
The old man opened his eyes in fury.
-What are you doing?
Ethan closed his eyes.
When he called Noah back, he offered warmth.
He offered a hand.
An opportunity.
This time he offered nothing.
He did not push life towards Augustus.
He didn't call him.
It did not heal him.
He simply stopped perpetuating the lie.
He just let go.
The monitors screamed.
The lights flickered.
The machines began to fail one after another.
Augustus glared at the child with hatred.
—Marina would have saved me.
Ethan opened his eyes.
He was pale.
Trembling.
But his voice was clear.
—No.
He was breathing with difficulty.
—She would have tried.
Augustus wanted to answer.
He couldn't.
His hand closed on the sheet.
The monitor showed an irregular rhythm.
Then slower.
Weaker.
May you like
Finally, her eyes closed.
This time, nobody called him back.
