Chapter 165

Chapter 165
Finn's POV

I stood motionless at the window of General Hospital's ICU, my reflection ghosting against the glass as I stared through at Peter's unconscious form.

The sterile fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the room, highlighting the medical equipment keeping him alive. Outside the room, doctors and nurses moved with quiet efficiency, their voices hushed murmurs in the antiseptic hallway.

A doctor approached, clipboard in hand, his white coat perfectly pressed despite the early hour. "Mr. Sterling, we've managed to stabilize him. The toxin has been identified and neutralized, but he's still quite weak. We'll need to keep him under observation for at least—"

"How long until he regains consciousness?" I interrupted, keeping my voice low and controlled.

The doctor checked his notes. "He's sedated now, but the medication should wear off within the hour. I wouldn't recommend questioning him until—"

"Thank you, doctor. That will be all." My dismissal was polite but final.

As the doctor retreated, my mind drifted back to the chaotic scene at the abandoned resort—Peter's sudden collapse, the foam at his lips, Edward's anguished cry.

The memory of Hannah's face, pale with shock as she watched Peter convulse, sent a surge of cold anger through my veins. Someone had tried to silence him before he could talk, and I needed to know who.

When the nurse left Peter's room thirty minutes later, I slipped inside, closing the door firmly behind me. With deliberate movements, I pulled the privacy curtains closed and settled into the chair beside the hospital bed. Then I waited, still as a predator, until Peter's eyelids began to flutter.

Peter awoke slowly, consciousness returning in painful increments. When his eyes finally focused on me, terror flashed across his face. He tried to move away, but his body barely responded, the tubes and wires restricting his movement.

"I just saved your life," I said quietly, leaning forward. "The least you could do is show some gratitude."

Peter's voice was a rasp. "Why would you save me?"

"Dead men tell no tales," I replied with a cold smile. "And you have quite a tale to tell, don't you?"

Fear darkened Peter's eyes as he glanced toward the call button, just out of reach.

"The nurses won't hear you," I continued conversationally. "And even if they did, I own half this hospital. Now, let's get to the point. The person who tried to kill you—who was it?"

Peter shook his head weakly, confusion mingling with terror. "What are you talking about?"

I laughed, a humorless sound even to my own ears. "The poison, Peter. Someone clearly wanted to silence you before you could reveal who put you up to stealing that phonograph. There's no need to protect them now—they've already tried to kill you once."

"Nobody put me up to anything," Peter insisted, his voice breaking. "It was my idea. All mine."

I leaned closer, dropping my voice to a whisper. "The toxicology report on my phone says otherwise. That poison isn't something you pick up at a corner drugstore. It's sophisticated, expensive, and nearly untraceable." I held up my phone, showing a complex chemical analysis. "Very specific circles use this particular compound."

Peter's eyes widened at the screen, his breathing becoming more rapid.

"Tell me who's behind this," I demanded, "or I promise, the pain you're feeling now will seem like a pleasant memory."

Peter swallowed hard, wincing at the effort. "There's no one behind anything," he insisted, voice trembling. "I lost everything gambling at an underground casino. The owner—they call him Big Bear—he said I could make it all back if I stole something valuable from the Hawkins party."

My expression remained unchanged, but I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Keep talking."

"I was desperate," Peter continued, words tumbling out now. "I'd lost everything—my savings, my credit, even borrowed against Edward's pension. Big Bear said the phonograph was worth at least a hundred grand, and all I had to do was slip into the party and take it from the display case."

"And you had no idea Hannah would win it?" I asked, keeping my voice dangerously soft.

Peter shook his head vigorously. "God, no. That was a complete accident. I was planning to take it from the display case during dinner. When they announced the music challenge, I thought I was screwed. Then when your brother started playing, I figured no one could beat him." He gave a bitter laugh that turned into a cough. "But then Hannah sat down at that piano..."

I stood abruptly and walked to the window, pulling back the curtain slightly to look out at the morning traffic below. My thoughts raced through the sequence of events—Hannah's sudden decision to participate in the music challenge, Richard's unexpected appearance, the stolen phonograph. Could it all truly be coincidence?

Hannah had never mentioned having any particular interest in antique music players before that night. And Richard's arrival at the exact moment Hannah was in danger seemed too convenient. Yet Hannah's joy when she won had been genuine, her eyes lighting up with that special warmth she reserved for me alone.

Turning back to face Peter, I asked, "Why contact Edward? Why not just sell the phonograph and be done with it?"

Peter gave a weak, bitter laugh. "Because I couldn't sell it. Everyone in those circles knows it belongs to the Hawkins family. Everyone knew Hannah just won it. No fence would touch it—it was too recognizable, too fresh."

"So you were stuck with a stolen item you couldn't sell," I summarized coldly.

"Exactly. I was panicking, and then..." Peter hesitated.

"And then what?" I demanded.

"I got a text from a number I didn't recognize. It said I could go directly to the 'owner' and get it back for a reward." Peter's eyes darted to my face. "I didn't have Hannah's current number. I could only call Edward, hoping he'd help me contact her."

I glanced toward the door, where Edward paced in the hallway, his face haggard with worry and exhaustion. "Instead, he came after you himself."

"He went crazy," Peter whispered. "I thought he'd help me contact Hannah about returning the phonograph for a reward. Instead, he came at me like a madman. Said he wouldn't let me near her again."

I studied Peter silently for a long moment before turning toward the door. I gestured to Jack, who entered immediately.

"I need you to trace the source of an anonymous text message," I instructed quietly. "And find everything you can on a casino owner called Big Bear."

Jack nodded, already tapping on his tablet. "The message has been deleted, sir. It was sent from a burner phone that's no longer active."

My expression darkened. "Then focus on the casino owner. I want to know his background, his funding sources, his recent contacts." I dropped my voice even lower. "And any possible connections to the Sterling family."

Jack nodded, his expression grim. "Right away, sir."

As Jack departed, I cast one last glance at Peter, who had slumped back against his pillows, eyes closed in exhaustion or fear. The puzzle pieces were beginning to form a picture, but it was still too blurry to make out clearly.

One thing was certain—someone had gone to great lengths to set these events in motion.