I don’t answer right away. “My mother has a heart condition. Requires medication and regular monitoring.”
Dr. Vaughn nods, making notes on his tablet. “What kind of condition?”
“Hereditary. She had a minor heart attack a few years ago. Got a stent put in, and now she’s doing great.” I know more than I should, but then I pay for her medical care, research her condition obsessively, and have made sure she has access to the best cardiologists money can buy. Even being aware of her condition hasn’t prepared me to be sitting where I am now, with Dr. Vaughn looking at me with a mix of concern and unspoken chastisement.
“Mr. Beckett.” The doctor sets down his stethoscope and fixes me with the kind of direct stare that no one dares to pin on me, with the exceptions of my mother and my executive assistant, Martha. “Your blood pressure is significantly elevated, your heart rhythm shows concerning irregularities, and given your family history, I don’t think I need to tell you what that combination means.”
The words hit like a market crash. Devastating, unavoidable, threatening everything I’ve built. Some of the chest pressure was starting to ease until I registered what he was telling me. “Are you saying I have my mom’s heart condition? That can’t be possible. I eat healthy. I exercise religiously.”
Dr. Vaughn nods but his expression hasn’t changed. “What about stress? How’s your sleep schedule? Any problems at work? At home?”
“I’m fine,” I insist, avoiding his questions. “In fact, I’m feeling better already.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Beckett. However, what you experienced tonight should not be dismissed. Heart palpitations, chest pain, shortness of breath. Without immediate lifestyle changes, hereditary heart conditions can lead to serious complications. Potentially fatal ones.” He leans back in his chair, studying me with clinical assessment. “When was your last vacation?”
The question is so unexpected I almost laugh. “Vacation?”
“Time away from work. Rest. Relaxation. Stress reduction.” He says each word like he’s explaining basic mathematics to a child. “Remember those concepts?”
“I don’t do vacations.” The idea is absurd. Vacation is for people who don’t understand that empires require constant vigilance. “I have a company to run, clients to manage, acquisitions to oversee?—”
“You have a heart condition to manage.” His interruption is surgical in its precision. “Mr. Beckett, I’m not suggesting vacation as a luxury. I’m prescribing it as a medical necessity. Along with a complete bloodwork scan and other diagnostic tests. You need to be aware that your current lifestyle is unsustainable and potentially lethal.”
He’s not wrong about the stress, but his timing couldn’t be worse. HoloTech’s acquisition of Meridian Defense Systems isweeks from closing. Nine billion dollars and eighteen months of negotiations hinging on a deal that requires my direct oversight, and this man wants me to go sit on a beach.
“You’re saying I need to stop working?” The question comes out rougher than intended, my composure finally slipping.
“I’m saying you need to dramatically reduce your stress levels immediately. That means stepping back from daily operations, delegating responsibilities, and taking time to rest and recover.” His expression is implacable. “Consider this a prescription, Mr. Beckett. Rest now, or risk much more serious consequences later.”
Everything I’ve built, everything I am, revolves around control and constant motion. The idea of stepping back, of letting others handle my empire, feels like volunteering for professional suicide.
But as I sit here, chest still noticeably tight and hands still shaking, I realize that my body has already cast its vote.
I dress mechanically as the doctor schedules me for whatever tests he insists I need, my mind racing through implications that feel too massive to process. Time away from the office. Delegating control to others. Forced relaxation. I wouldn’t even know what that looks like.
“For how long?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“We’ll start with what’s medically necessary and see how you respond.” Dr. Vaughn stands, signaling the end of our consultation. “But Mr. Beckett, this isn’t optional. Your body is sending you a clear message. Ignore it at your own peril.”
Everything I’ve worked for, reduced to a medical ultimatum from a doctor who thinks my drive and ambition are medical disorders.
“I’ll email you your appointments and some literature on stress management and heart-healthy lifestyle changes,” hecontinues, his tone professional but final. “I strongly suggest you begin making arrangements for a short leave of absence from work immediately. Even a week will be good medicine for you.”
I stand on legs that feel unreliable, straightening my jacket with hands that want to shake. The consultation room suddenly feels suffocating, all that dark wood and leather luxury now seeming more like an expensive coffin than a place of healing.
“This is...” I start, but I can’t finish the sentence.
Dr. Vaughn holds my gaze. “Mr. Beckett, I’ve been treating high-powered executives for thirty years. The ones who listen to medical advice continue being successful. The ones who don’t become cautionary tales.”
He walks me out of the consultation room where Wyatt and the club attendant are waiting. “Everything good, Alec?” Wyatt asks hopefully. “The guys are waiting for you in the poker room.”
Dr. Vaughn pointedly clears his throat. “No more poker for Mr. Beckett tonight. The club will send a car around to drive you home.”
I nod, glancing at Wyatt. “It’s nothing serious. Just need to take things easy for a while. Doctor’s orders.”
“Take things easy? What the hell does that mean?”
I answer with a weak chuckle. “I’m not really sure.”
