Chapter 3: The Contingency Plan
As an ambulance arrived to check my neck, my mind drifted to the man who had helped me orchestrate my survival: Arthur Sterling, a ruthless estate attorney.
Three weeks ago, I had sat in his mahogany-paneled office, trembling as I confessed my fears. I had noticed Brandon snooping around my apartment, and my mother had been asking overly detailed questions about my GoFundMe withdrawals.
"Blood doesn't make them family, Elena," Arthur had told me, sliding a legal document across his desk. "It makes them a liability. We are moving your funds into a medical trust. You will be the sole beneficiary. I will be the trustee. They couldn't touch a dime of it even if they held a gun to your head."
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It turned out, I didn't need a gun. I just needed to let them show their true colors.
At the hospital, the ER doctor confirmed I had suffered minor contusions but no permanent damage to my trachea. More importantly, my oncologist, Dr. Evans, gave me the green light for my tumor-removal surgery scheduled for the end of the week. The trust Arthur set up had already wired the hospital the funds. My life was finally my own.
