Justice of the Supreme War God

Chapter 23: Power of Attorney PART 2

He looked at Marcus with the complicated expression of a man who had a history of physical encounters with the person in front of him and was currently in a hospital, which was inconvenient context.

"I'm here for Diana," Liam said. "Same as everyone."

"You're not welcome," Marcus said simply.

"Excuse me —" Catherine started.

"He's not welcome," Marcus said, and did not look at Catherine when he said it, which was somehow worse than if he had argued with her. He kept his eyes on Liam with the particular, focused attention of someone who has been patient for a specific amount of time and is now conducting a precise inventory of how much remains.

Liam's jaw tightened. He had brought his anger with him and was looking for somewhere to put it that didn't involve the memory of a hallway floor.

"You've got some nerve," Liam said, his voice dropping. "Diana is in a hospital bed and you're standing here playing bouncer like you have any right —"

"Liam." Marcus's voice didn't rise. "The next words out of your mouth should be an apology. For the conference room. For what your father has been doing to her business." He let that sit for exactly one beat. "If they're anything else, you're going to need a bed in this building."

The lobby went completely silent.

Liam Steel — who had bodyguards and a father with a floor in a Meridian Avenue tower and eleven years of relationships with half the city's institutional infrastructure — went pale.

Not the pale of offense. The pale of a man whose body has received a message that bypassed his ego entirely and gone straight to his nervous system, and whose nervous system had returned a very clear assessment of the situation.

His mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

He was still standing there, slightly colorless, when the lobby doors opened again.

Ryan Steel entered with the smooth, unhurried confidence of a man who had dressed with intention, which meant he had heard about this hospital visit, processed it strategically, and decided how to use it before he got in the car.

He scanned the lobby with the practiced sweep of someone identifying the relevant parties, nodded once at Catherine, glanced at Liam with a look that assessed and dismissed his current condition in under a second, and settled his gaze on Dr. Morse with the warm, purposeful smile of a man approaching a transaction he expects to complete quickly.

"Dr. Morse." Ryan extended his hand. "Ryan Steel. I don't think we've met personally, though I know your institution well." He shook the Dean's hand with the practiced warmth of a man who had shaken ten thousand hands in exactly this manner. "My family has been a significant supporter of Meridian General for a number of years. The cardiac wing renovation — that was largely our contribution. The research endowment in 2019." He smiled with the modest, proprietary satisfaction of a man listing things he owns. "We have a great deal of respect for what this hospital does."

Morse received the handshake with professional neutrality.

Ryan released it and turned toward the waiting area, and his expression shifted from warm to the particular, flat register of a man issuing an instruction he expects to be processed without friction.

"I'd appreciate it," Ryan said, his voice carrying the precise volume required for the lobby to hear him clearly without him appearing to raise it, "if you'd have your security team escort that man —" he pointed at Marcus without looking at him directly, the way one points at an object rather than a person — "out of this building." A brief pause, during which he allowed the weight of the cardiac wing and the 2019 endowment to circulate in the air. "He has no business being here, and his presence is distressing to Diana's family." Another pause. "I'm sure the Steel family's continued support of this institution isn't something you'd want to complicate over something this straightforward."

The lobby waited.

Dr. Franklin Morse looked at Ryan Steel.

Then he looked at Marcus Hayes.

And the conflict that moved across his face was brief and entirely one-sided.