CHAPTER NINE; Good news?

The drone of voices roused Rose from her fitful slumber, and she blinked her eyes open to find a familiar face hovering over her.

"Dr. Winters," she breathed, her voice raspy from exhaustion. "What is it? Has something happened?"

The doctor's expression was uncharacteristically hopeful as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Actually, Miss Blackwell, I have some good news. Your father's condition has stabilized overnight, and his heart is showing signs of improvement."

Rose felt a surge of relief wash over her, and she had to resist the urge to leap from the chair. "That's... that's wonderful news! Can I see him?"

Dr. Winters nodded, guiding her back towards the bed where Wendell lay, his features still gaunt and pale, but the steady rise and fall of his chest a testament to his newfound resilience. "He's still quite weak, and we'll need to keep a close eye on him, but the fact that he's made it through the night is a very positive sign."

Rose's eyes filled with tears as she took in her father's frail form, her heart aching to see him in such a vulnerable state. Gently, she reached out and clasped his hand, marveling at the warmth that still lingered in his skin.

"Daddy," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. You just focus on getting better, okay?"

Wendell's eyes fluttered open, and Rose felt her breath catch in her throat as she was met with his familiar, warm gaze. Though his features were marred by the oxygen mask covering the lower half of his face, his eyes held a spark of recognition and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"R-Rose," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "My... my girl."

Rose squeezed his hand, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks. "Yes, Daddy, I'm here. I'm right here with you."

Wendell's eyes crinkled with what she knew was his signature smile, the one he'd given her a thousand times over the years. It was a smile that had seen her through countless triumphs and tribulations, a smile that had always made her feel safe and loved.

"I'm... so proud of you," he murmured, his grip tightening ever so slightly around her fingers. "You're... so strong, just like your mother."

Rose felt a lump rise in her throat, and she leaned in closer, drinking in the familiar scent of his cologne that clung to his skin. "I remember when she used to buy you that cologne," she whispered, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. "You'd always tease her, saying it was too strong, but I know you loved it."

Wendell's eyes crinkled again, and Rose could see the warmth and affection shining in their depths. "And... you'd always... sneak a spritz when I wasn't looking," he rasped, a hint of playful admonishment in his tone.

Rose let out a watery chuckle, the memories flooding back with a clarity that both warmed and broke her heart. "I couldn't help it, Daddy. It just... it smelled like home."

They fell into a comfortable silence then, Rose's thumb gently caressing the weathered skin of her father's hand as she basked in the reassurance of his steady breathing. The weight of the previous day seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of cautious optimism that had been so sorely lacking.

After what felt like an eternity, Wendell spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm... so glad you're here, Rose. I couldn't... bear the thought of... leaving you alone."

Rose felt a fresh wave of tears well up in her eyes, and she leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Shh, Daddy, don't talk like that. You're going to be just fine, I promise. We still have so much to do, so many more memories to make."

Wendell's eyes fluttered closed, a serene expression settling over his features. "I know, my girl. I know." As he slept, she gently traced the weathered lines of his hand. The loud tone of her phone startled her from her reverie, and she murmured an apology to those who were also startled around her, before stepping out. Glancing down at the screen, she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips as she saw Laurent's name.

"Laurent," she answered, her voice filled with a certain lightness. "I was just thinking about you."

"Rose, my darling," Laurent's voice came through, tinged with what sounded like congestion. "I'm so sorry to bother you so early, but I was hoping you could give me an update on your father's condition."

Her brow furrowed with concern at the way he was sounding, but the joy of her father's unexpected improvement overshadowed any lingering worry. "Oh, Laurent, What happened to your voice? And as for my father, the doctor said his condition has stabilized overnight. He actually spoke to me but he's asleep now." She leaned her head on the nearest wall and breathed out, "It's... it's such a relief."

She heard Laurent let out a soft sigh of what sounded like relief. "That's wonderful news, my dear. I'm so glad to hear it." There was a brief pause, and then he continued, "I do hate to mention this now, but about the search, could we continue later? I'm afraid I don't feel too good, and I dread passing it to you. Perhaps we could continue tomorrow?"

She nodded vigorously, before remembering that he couldn't see her. "Of course, Laurent. I understand. Please, take good care of yourself, and I'll be sure to keep you updated on my father's progress."

"Thank you, Rose. I'll be in touch." With that, the line went silent, and Rose couldn't help the small pang of disappointment. She had hoped to share her father's improvement with him in person, that he'd be overjoyed with her, and drive over. She had no doubt he would have to, if not for the cold.

Shaking off the sense of loss and disappointment, Rose went back to her father, her features softening when he hummed to show he was awake. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "Did you hear that, Daddy?" she murmured, her fingers tracing the contours of his palm. "Laurent is worried about you, too. He's been such a wonderful support these past few days."

Her father's eyes crinkled in what she recognized as a faint smile, and Rose felt her heart swell with gratitude. "I know you were the one who asked him to look after me," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I can't tell you how much that means to me. I... I don't know what I'd have done without him."

Squeezing her father's hand, Rose settled back into the chair, content to simply bask in his quiet presence. The weight of the past few days seemed to have lifted, and for the first time since she got the doctor's call, she could finally feel a glimmer of hope. It was really faint, but it was there.

As the hours ticked by, she dozed off and on with her Dad, and during the times when she was awake, she found herself regaling her father with stories from her childhood – the family vacations, the holiday traditions, her rebellious stunts that almost got her in trouble. She also found herself confessing some of the wrongs he didn't know about, like the fact that the one time he'd had a cracked windscreen, it had been her fault because she'd wanted to test a boomerang. When he was awake, he squeezed her hands in response, and even when he was asleep, she kept talking. 

Eventually, as the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, Rose felt Wendell's grip on her hand weaken, his eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. With a gentle smile, she pressed a featherlight kiss to his forehead, whispering a soft promise to return the next day.

As she made her way out of the hospital, Rose couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of optimism. Her father was on the mend, and according to his doctor, he had made significant milestones in his health. If it continued, her father could be home in the next 2 weeks. She couldn't wait to share that news with Laurent.

******

The moment Laurent ended the call with Rose, his expression darkened. Wendell Blackwell's unexpected recovery would only throw a wrench into his carefully laid plans. and he knew he would have to act quickly if he wanted to seize control of the Blackwell empire before it was too late.

Pacing the length of his house. Getting evidence of foul play was only the first step. If his end point was obtaining the company instead of just tearing it down, he had to be smart. There were likely enough people who felt like they also owed the company. His mind raced with a thousand different scenarios, each one less concrete than the last. Now that he was thinking from a pragmatic standpoint, getting what he wanted would be quite hard. All the more reason to do it while the owner was indisposed. It would be difficult, but not impossible. He had come too far, sacrificed too much, to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. The Blackwell legacy would be his, no matter the cost.

Retrieving the file of incriminating documents he had filched from Wendell's office, Laurent spread them out on his desk. He pored over the pages, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed every detail -- financial statements, internal memos, legal contracts.

As he read, a plan began to take form in his mind. If executed perfectly, it could allow him to seize control of Blackwell Enterprises through legally dubious yet probably effective means, it just depended on a lot of variables.