A nurse wheeled Timothy down the hall toward his room, with Naylor hurrying right behind. Secretary Allen stepped forward to steady Phelps, guiding him in the same direction.
“When did he end up in another accident?” Phelps asked, his voice tense.
“A few days ago,” Allen replied truthfully. He’d only discovered Timothy was hospitalized when he came by to get his signature on some important documents.
“Do you know how it happened?”
“Not exactly. I didn’t dare ask too much.”
Phelps let out a frustrated sigh, his brow furrowing deeper. He pressed on, asking what had happened that evening.
Allen recounted everything as it had happened, then handed over Timothy’s phone. Blood had dried in streaks along the screen, and the display was frozen on a photo. Phelps tapped to see it more clearly, realizing it had been opened from Vince’s social media feed.
He studied the photo and, after a moment, finally understood. Jessica wasn’t just anyone—she was Salome. So Timothy had always kept a place for Jessica in his heart. The realization seemed to bring Phelps some relief.
“Sir, why would President Lawson be so shaken by a single photograph of his wife that he’d collapse from the stress?” Allen asked, careful to keep his tone casual. As Timothy’s secretary, there were things he needed to understand, but he didn’t want to appear nosy.
The old chairman sighed heavily. “Jessica is Vince’s younger sister. She and Timothy were inseparable as kids. She knew Timothy had lost his mother, and she’d always try to share hers—every winter, when they built snowmen, she’d make an extra one just for Timothy. But in this photo, there were only four snowmen. That must’ve hit Timothy hard.”
Allen was visibly surprised. So the lady was actually from the Zimmerman family. And President Lawson had coughed up blood—all over a photograph? But deep down, Allen knew President Lawson still cared for her. He remembered that stormy night…
“Sir, I have to take an urgent call. I’ll be back in a moment.”
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