*Is the dose increased?* the first message from three weeks ago read.

*He is showing signs of fighting the sedation. Keep him under.*

My breath caught in my throat as I scrolled through the logs.

The next message was sent only an hour ago.

*Make sure my cousin doesn’t open his eyes before the board meeting tomorrow.*

The realization hit me like a physical blow, leaving me momentarily breathless.

Jason wasn’t just waiting for Ethan to die of natural causes.

He was actively keeping him in this artificial coma to steal his inheritance.

I walked over to the nightstand and picked up the medical binder, my fingers smudging the plastic cover.

Comparing the text messages with the daily log entries, the dates matched perfectly.

Every time Ethan had shown signs of neurological improvement, Benson had administered a higher dose of the sedative.

I looked at Ethan.

His face was still, his jaw relaxed under the faint light of the monitor.

But now I knew it wasn’t because his brain was permanently damaged from the crash.

It was because his body was fighting a constant, deliberate stream of drugs.