Chapter 486 Willard Cannot Die
Downstairs, it was not just Lyndon but Jerry as well.
Neither of them knew the full picture.
Lyndon had only just managed to get one of his own people embedded before everything went sideways, and his first instinct was to rush over and see for himself. He still had no idea exactly what had happened.
Jerry knew little more.
Anne, afraid Elissa would worry, had called Hope after the incident.
But through sobs and hiccups, she never explained clearly—only repeating one sentence over and over.
"Hope, I killed someone."
It was Simon who eventually took the phone, offered a few clipped words, and told them to come over.
The three men piled into the car.
Francis, who knew the most about what had happened, gave the other two a brief rundown.
Lyndon let out a cold snort. "Dead is dead. Dragging Anne down with him? Pathetic."
Jerry kept his opinions to himself, content to watch the drama unfold.
Francis stayed neutral. They would talk again once they saw the scene for themselves.
"I'm not going with you," Lyndon said, his voice cold and flat. "I'm on security duty, stationed just off the island. I'll meet you there."
Francis had been wondering how Lyndon had even managed to get out of the country in the first place. He figured it must have been an emergency clearance—family crisis, fast-tracked paperwork.
"Fine," Francis said.
At the airport, before they split, Lyndon told him, "Make sure Anne is safe."
There was no way Francis would let anything happen to her. Even if it cost him, he would protect Anne—because if she fell, Elissa would be dragged down as well.
"Count on it," he said.
After Willard collapsed, Anne had bolted from the room to find Quinton.
Quinton pulled the attending doctor inside to work on Willard.
Anne lingered at the doorway, torn between leaving and staying, but in the end she stayed.
She heard the doctor say, "Mr. Larson needs surgery, but he cannot be moved. My skills are not enough. We need Mr. Armstrong."
Quinton had already contacted Louis. Judging by the time, he should be close.
"Just keep Mr. Larson stable until Mr. Armstrong arrives," Quinton ordered.
"Yes."
Quinton stepped out to try Louis again.
Anne remained at the door, unsure what to do.
Simon appeared. "Ms. Waverly, there is nothing you can do here. Let's wait in the lounge for Mr. Peterson and the others."
Anne pressed her lips together and followed him.
Simon poured her a cup of water. "Don't worry. Once Mr. Armstrong arrives, he will be fine."
Quinton still could not reach Louis. Passing through the lounge, he glanced at Anne, hesitated, then moved on.
Anne looked back at him, unsettled.
Simon tried to reassure her again. "This isn't your fault."
Anne stayed silent.
Simon fetched a slice of cake. "Something sweet might help."
But when Anne took it, she caught sight of the blood on her hand. The strawberry glaze on the cake made her stomach lurch. She stumbled to the bathroom and vomited until she was shaking.
Simon cursed under his breath. The cakes were flown in daily, always fresh. Anne was not picky as long as there were no peanuts. How could he have guessed this would happen today?
"Ms. Waverly, are you all right? Should I call the doctor?"
"No…"
Anne was at the sink, scrubbing her hands even though the blood was gone. She rubbed until her skin turned red, and still she did not stop.
"Ms. Waverly?"
Worried, Simon opened the door without waiting. "Pardon me."
He found her still scrubbing, pulled her away, and fetched the first aid kit.
"I'm fine," she insisted.
He treated her hands anyway. The last thing he needed was Francis seeing this and Elissa finding out—he would be chipping ice in Arcturus for weeks.
Anne did not resist. She seemed hollow, as if her soul had slipped out.
"Ann!" Uma rushed in, immediately checking her over. "Are you hurt? What happened to your hand? Was it Willard? I'll deal with him."
Anne tried to stop her, but Uma was all fire and motion while she herself moved like she was underwater.
Simon said, "Ms. Waverly, you are not to blame. Once Mr. Francis Peterson arrives, he will take you home to Mrs. Elissa Peterson."
Anne glanced upstairs but said nothing.
When Uma reached Willard's room, her tone changed instantly. "How is my brother?"
Quinton's face was grim. "Waiting on Mr. Armstrong. The doctor says it's urgent, but I still can't reach him. I don't know if he's on his way."
Uma tried Louis herself. No answer.
"How can he be unreachable now?" she murmured.
Louis never turned off his phone. He kept it charged, carried a signal booster if needed.
Missing a call could cost a life—he would never risk it.
For him to be unreachable now, of all times, was deeply suspicious.
"He's doing it on purpose," Uma said.
"Why?" Quinton asked.
"I don't know. We'll find out when he gets here."
"Will he come?"
"He will. I think he wants something."
Downstairs, Francis strode in, heading straight for Anne.
Jerry trailed behind, lazy as ever.
Simon bowed slightly and gave a quick report.
Jerry smirked. "This is quite the mess."
Francis shot him a look, then told Anne, "Go with Simon to the plane and wait for me. I'll check on Willard and take you home."
He continued, "This is my problem to handle. Don't carry it. If you have any thoughts, tell me and I'll deal with them."
Anne nodded numbly.
Francis gestured to Simon and went upstairs.
Jerry was about to follow when Louis appeared, unhurried.
"The great healer himself," Jerry drawled. "You made good time."
Louis gave him a cool glance and continued up.
Jerry followed, watching the steady pace of his steps, a sly smile playing on his lips.
Francis took one look at Willard and, seeing Louis arrive, knew the man would live. He turned to leave—only for Louis to block his way.
"Not staying for the outcome?"
"There's only one outcome worth waiting for," Francis said.
Louis's tone was unreadable. "There's never just one."
Francis narrowed his eyes. "You want to trade this for something."
Jerry snapped his fingers. "Ding ding. We have a winner."
Francis exhaled in irritation.
Louis was calm. "Of course, you could find another surgeon. You have the influence to bring in someone from abroad. I'm not the only one who can do this."
Uma bristled. "Louis, what are you saying? A life is at stake. Save him first—name your price later."
Francis brushed past Louis.
Jerry chimed in, "Since the Larson family head has promised, Francis and I are off the hook."
Louis followed without a word, yet somehow still speaking volumes.
Uma blocked them. "You're just going to let Willard die?"
Francis knew this was about Isla's reassignment, but he could not help with that.
"There's still time to bring in another surgeon," he said. "And Willard brought this on himself. That's not on us."
Uma turned to Louis. "You've been his friend for years. You'd let him die?"
Louis said nothing, his eyes on Francis.
Jerry leaned against the banister, enjoying the show.
The doctor burst out, frantic. "Mr. Larson's blood pressure is crashing! If we don't operate now, it will be too late!"
Uma, desperate, told Francis, "Help him just this once, and I'll owe you a huge favor."
"I can't," Francis said flatly.
"Then you can't take Anne. She's responsible for this."
"You won't harm her," Francis said with certainty.
Uma knew he was right. She had sought Anne out immediately to reassure her—Anne had done nothing wrong and had already suffered enough. She just had not expected Louis to refuse treatment.
"Yes, Willard was wrong, but not beyond redemption. He wasn't trying to trap Ann this time—he knew he was wrong and wanted to make amends. You know his condition. He can't survive without her. Can't this wait until after you save him? I'm begging you."
Louis remained unmoved.
Francis stayed silent.
Uma paced in frustration, unable to force Louis's hand.
Jerry saw no reason to speak.
Louis's inaction meant he had a plan. After all, the Armstrong family's code was clear: never refuse a patient, no matter what.
"Francis…" Anne's voice cracked, the word barely making it past her lips.
He turned to see Anne at the top of the stairs, pale as paper.
One glance at Simon, who lifted his hands. "Mr. Peterson, she insisted on coming up."
"Something you want to tell me?" Francis asked.
Anne shook her head, hesitating.
"Anything you can't say to me? Elissa's watching—you'll make her angry if you act like this."
"What?"
He tapped his lapel pin. "I'm on a video call with her right now."
He handed her his phone.
Anne saw Elissa's face on the screen, Hope beside her.
"Elissa…"
Elissa's voice was soft with concern. "It's all right. Let Francis bring you home. I've got your favorite food waiting."
"But Willard…"
"He's not your responsibility."
Anne wiped her tears. "If he dies, there's no one left to prove I'm innocent."
That was the real problem. Willard's death would free her from his harassment, but it could also leave her open to blame.
"Francis will clear your name," Elissa promised. "Come home first."
Anne nodded. "All right."
"Ann!" Uma jumped in. "Yes, he hurt you, but he doesn't deserve to die. Before you married, his feelings for you were real. My parents and I have always cared for you."
She pressed on, "You may hate him, but you can't just watch him die. Please, say the word and save him. I promise I'll make sure he never bothers you again."
"Don't pressure her," Elissa cut in. "He stabbed himself. If he wanted to die, he should have stayed away from Anne instead of making her a murderer."
"Yes," Uma said, "he was wrong—terribly wrong. But Mrs. Peterson, if this were your family, could you watch them die?"
"I'll apologize for him," Uma said, starting to kneel. "Ann, I'm sorry. You don't have to forgive him—just save him this once."
Anne caught her before she could kneel. "Don't."
Uma's eyes were red, her voice shaking. "Just this once. I'm begging you."
Elissa did not truly want Willard dead. She was furious that everyone was using this to corner Anne. Louis's demand was about Isla—she knew that. Francis's refusal was to avoid getting involved. But if anyone was in the wrong, it was Louis.
"Can't you switch doctors?" Elissa asked Francis.
"Earlier, yes. Not now," he said, hearing the machines inside start to alarm.
The attending doctor's voice rose in panic. "We're out of time! Mr. Armstrong, your family has never turned away a patient. Your parents even paid out of pocket for those who couldn't afford care."
Louis still said nothing.
Anne looked at Francis, voice trembling, "Willard can't die…"
Francis rubbed his temple, then finally relented. "Save him."
Only then did Louis enter the room.
Elissa called for Francis, and he stepped downstairs to take the video call.
"What is it?"
"Where's Lyndon? I haven't seen him."
"He's… complicated. Not here yet. Probably soon."
She noticed him pulling out a cigarette. Ever since Anne had been taken by Willard, he had started smoking again. As his wife, she could feel the strain he was under.
"You've done enough, Francis," she said softly.
He smiled faintly. "I thought you'd say it's just my job."
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