Then she called Megan.
“It’s done,” she said. “He drank it. Get the binder. We need to get the Medical Power of Attorney and the DNR ready before anyone calls the paramedics.”
A few minutes later, Terrence walked in.
“Dad!” he shouted while dropping down next to me. “Call 911!”
For a split second I felt hope.
Then Megan yelled at him, “Don’t touch that phone. He’s supposed to die.”
Terrence cried. Beatrice told Terrence that I had signed a DNR.
I hadn’t.
But Terrence released my arm.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “We’ll wait.”
At that moment, something in me stopped being his father.
Not because he didn’t have my blood.Since he did not save me.
They started setting up what their narrative was going to be. Megan was the first to open the binder and Beatrice told Terrence when to write. Terrence signed the paper.
Then I started coughing.
The room was silent.
I rolled onto my back and gazed up at both of them.
“What just happened?” I croaked out.
The look on their faces was priceless.
Beatrice was the first one to recover and went to give me a hug.
“Oh my god, Elijah. You’re alive.”
“Of course I am. Do you really think it would take more than being dizzy to kill an old truck driver?”
I let them continue thinking I was dazed, but I later handled them a scare that they would rethink their decisions and they would set things in order.
“Next week, we’ll have a family meeting,” I said. “Pastor Silas, the lawyer, and the board. I want each person to receive what is rightfully theirs.”
They both smiled.
They thought they beat me.
The following week, Sterling worked slowly and quietly. Funds were seized. Property was locked. The finances of the trust were frozen. A toxicologist confirmed the napkin had digoxin on it. D.N.A. testing proved that Terrence was not the father of my son, but rather Silas was. The unborn child is not Terrence’s either.
Megan met me at a café and told me if I did not sign power of attorney to her, she would accuse me of something vile.
Everything was captured on the recorder in my pocket.