Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 145: For the Sake of the Past, Compassion in Heart
Mrs. Grant picked out some clothes and urged Mr. Grant to change.
Mr. Grant raised his hand, signaling to wait a bit, "It’s just a declaration; a fingerprint will suffice. It shouldn’t be difficult for you."
The man glanced at Eleanor; she was half-conscious, slumped in the chair, slender and petite. Even without force, they could compel her to leave a fingerprint.
However, these men were not international personnel hired by Secretary Rhodes but were hastily recruited by Mr. Grant when he sensed something amiss. They lacked professionalism and weren’t reliable.
In Western countries, abortion and racial discrimination are absolute political liabilities that shouldn’t be touched.
At this time, Froskar was in the midst of a four-yearly political overhaul. Several reserve candidates for mayor of Húsavík had almost universally seized upon the abortion bill as an infallible means to draw votes after the massive Catholic protest demonstration.
At such a juncture, hospitals and doctors would rigorously adhere to the procedural standards for abortions.
For instance, under surveillance, a woman would voluntarily sign and leave a fingerprint, leaving no suspicion of any unfortunate consequences.
The man had no desire to get involved either. Should something go awry, Froskar might very well ban them from entering the country, jeopardizing this and many future businesses.
"I suggest sticking to the originally negotiated hospital. Any last-minute changes might be riskier."
Mr. Grant did not immediately respond.
After listening for a while, Mrs. Grant furrowed her brow, placed the clothes aside, and scrutinized Mr. Grant’s expression.
Changing hospitals was indeed rash and did not align with Mr. Grant’s usually astute and composed demeanor.
But the man’s patience was evidently limited; he urged impatiently before she could discern anything, "Please respond quickly, or we will proceed with the original hospital."
Mrs. Grant took out her phone, "Let her take the call."
The man complied.
There was a burst of static from the speaker, a few brief instructions from a man, followed by a quiet breath, weak and labored, offered no greetings, nor a single word of inquiry.
Mrs. Grant waited for a while, frowned, "Eleanor?"
The red-bearded man shoved the phone against Eleanor’s cheek with such force that she toppled to one side. He then roughly pulled her arm to sit her up, pressing the microphone against her mouth, intimidating her to speak.
Eleanor’s voice was awfully hoarse, "Mrs. Grant."
Mrs. Grant’s frown deepened, her voice displeased, "What did you call me?"
Eleanor remained silent.
On the other end, her breathing was shallow, making Mrs. Grant’s urgency and irritation more apparent.
She had not disowned Eleanor, nor had she questioned how she dared have an affair with Cillian, hide it for four years, conceal her pregnancy, and flee abroad.
Eleanor, however, was the one who first disowned her and The Grant Family.
As Mrs. Grant was about to erupt, Mr. Grant lightly patted her shoulder.
She held back, "Eleanor, I can tell you hold a grudge against your mother." She inhaled, speaking more smoothly, "These past four years, your mother was misguided, but since you don’t want to be with Cillian, you shouldn’t keep the child."
Eleanor didn’t move; except for the sound of her breathing, there was no other noise, her silence absolute.
Mrs. Grant had to continue herself. "Your mother has discussed it with your father. Since you now don’t want to be with The Grant Family, we are willing to support you. Your father will even help conceal your whereabouts, and your mother will give you enough money to live in ease for the rest of your life, as long as you abort this shameful child. Freedom, a gift from your father and mother."
Eleanor’s lips curled into a smile, "Mrs. Grant, at this moment, I only believe you won’t extend any past kindness to me."
She and Mrs. Grant.
If Eleanor had chosen honesty back in the first year, Mrs. Grant, after her initial rage and anger, might still have feelings to cushion the blow. She might have sent her abroad and let her be, so long as she didn’t return for the rest of her life.
But back then, Eleanor didn’t dare face Mrs. Grant’s contempt.
In the end, Mrs. Grant despised her anyway, and she dared not face it for fear of being dealt with.
And now, truly being dealt with, two lives lost.
Eleanor clutched her answer, a wasteland within.
On the other end, Mrs. Grant was both shocked and furious.
Shocked that Eleanor did not fall for her sentimentality for the first time.
Furious that she caught Eleanor’s subtle mockery, "in past kindness, compassion," her own name is Grace, yet she was ruthless towards Eleanor.
Mr. Grant watched as her face turned from white to red, then to a mix of green and purple, her breath hurried with anger. He took her phone and addressed the man’s codename, "Scorpion."
The phone pressed against Eleanor’s cheek was moved away, the red-bearded man fawningly handed it back to the man in the front seat, "It’s me."
"Proceed to the originally planned hospital. But I underestimated one party’s strength; you must rendezvous with the other team first."
After ending the call, Mr. Grant couldn’t shake his unease. He realized that he had underestimated Damian Sinclair even if he had noticed Cillian’s plan in time.
He assumed that it was Damian Sinclair’s men who escorted Eleanor away with Cillian’s cover, hiding it from him in Cillian’s deliberate oversight.
However, today’s incident at The Huvizak Museum indeed followed this scheme. Yet, Damian Sinclair surprised him; he had more personnel, more tricks, seemingly even linked to the local gangs.
Mrs. Grant was initially furious beyond measure but paused when Mr. Grant specifically cautioned her, "Underestimate who?"
Mr. Grant hesitated.
Mrs. Grant valued Phoebe Grant, the daughter they had finally found, dearly. If she found out all that Damian Sinclair did for Eleanor, she’d be livid and would tear Damian to pieces. Therefore, he had selectively concealed certain things.
Her eyes sharp, after sharing the same bed for decades, she knew behind Mr. Grant’s hesitation lay guilt, "What are you hiding from me again? From this Cillian business, I’ve learned the more silent you men are, the bigger the secret. If you don’t explain everything honestly today, don’t call me ’wife’ anymore."
Mr. Grant stepped back, raised his hands in surrender, "Damian Sinclair—"
He roughly explained the causes and consequences.
As expected, Mrs. Grant became a thunderstorm, furious, rushing towards the door.
Mr. Grant stopped her, "Damian Sinclair can’t be touched now. I’ve roughly understood the situation over these four years. For Eleanor, Cillian went to great lengths, plotting endlessly. Now that he’s fully grown, it’s just like this in Froskar; if I hadn’t realized the trick at the critical juncture, I’d have been led astray by him again."
"Grace, Damian Sinclair now represents the Sinclair family supporting me. And I’m deep into the fight with Cillian; there’s no turning back. If you take out your rage on Damian, the Sinclairs will hold a grudge. If Cillian seizes the moment and wins, it’ll expose everything, and we would genuinely have to fight to the death. Even if I win in the end, this excellent heir, Cillian, would be ruined. Could you bear that?"
Mrs. Grant trembled all over, her teeth clenched tightly, barely squeezing out a word, "Sinful—"
......
Mr. Grant’s original choice of hospital was after considerable deliberation.
It wasn’t large, a small villa with a pointed roof, mainly treating psychological issues. There were no gynecology signs on its promotions or business cards, yet it was locally renowned.
With the openness abroad, teenagers, both boys and girls, lack experience and are impulsive. If caught off guard, all sorts of surprises could arise.
For local ordinary people, a small clinic might solve it, but the middle class cared for their reputation and safety, birthing this private hospital under the guise of psychological care, tackling life’s dilemmas.
