An Unconscious Heir

“Make sure all documents for today's meeting are intact. I'll be there in a minute,” Nathan said, hanging up. He dropped his phone on the passenger seat next to him as he focused on his driving, holding the steering wheel firmly with his two hands.

Nathan was heading to “Global Health City” headquarters. He had a meeting with some investors from Europe and Asia. Nathan pressured the accelerator so he wouldn't be late. In the middle of the drive, Nathan started to feel so hot. At first he ignored it whining down his windows to allow air in.

As the drive continued he started sweating profusely wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He released his ties with one of his hands while trying to focus on his driving. Things got to its climax when Nathan noticed he had started to feel dizzy—he was losing consciousness.

Nathan wanted to park the car to avoid minor accidents. As he was about to park driving to the left,a huge lorry was coming,which he was unaware of. The lorry's honk was the last thing he heard when he quickly tried to turn back to the right.

Amidst all this, he lost consciousness, his car driving off the bridge spiraling in the air. The next thing that was heard was a heavy splash of water and Nathan's car was seen sinking down into the ocean.

There was a pause in the air. Incoming cars halting and drivers standing at the hem of the bridge to observe the scene. Few minutes later,the sound of a siren could be heard driving into the scene. The police, paramedics e.t.c were here already as efforts were made to retrieve the body.

Few hours later after continuous search of Nathan's car hoping to find his body,his body was found at the shores of the ocean at the beach. Nathan was dead. His death threw his family into a state of distress, especially his father who had no other heir except his daughter. Dr. Vanguard had looked up to his son as the only hope of a suitable heir. He had envisioned a bright future for his corporation as long as it falls into the hands of his son—Nathan Vanguard.

The Vanguard Mansion

The Vanguard Mansion stood under the oppressive light of the sun as it reflects a kaleidoscope of colors on the environment. Dr. Vanguard sat in his study. His jaw rested on his already intertwined fingers as he stared blankly into the air. Dr. Vanguard was infuriated and curious to know about what happened to his son. He had many questions running through his mind. What killed his son? Or rather who killed his son?

Dr. Vanguard was brought back to reality with a knock on the door. It was Elias,his secretary. He had excused him and he walked in bowing slightly to show his respect while holding a file in his hands. Earlier today,Dr. Vanguard had asked him to draft out a funeral plan. He wanted to bury Nathan as soon as possible since his body was already found and not in a good shape.

”Here is what you asked for sir. I compiled some of the best event planner,coffin maker, event decors in the city to ensure he is given a befitting burial,” Elias said,his voice firm but low as if he could feel the pain of Dr. Vanguard just by staring at his eyes.

“Sir…” Elias said to Dr. Vanguard who was still immersed in his thoughts. “Go to the hospital and request for a re-run of the autopsy.” Dr. Vanguard ordered.

“But sir we had done the autopsy and nothing specific came out,” Elias reminded in a calm tone hoping not to upset Dr. Vanguard.

“When was the last time you wrote a resignation letter?,” Dr. Vanguard said hinting on a possible release of Elias' position if he keeps on questioning his judgement. “Yes sir! I'll demand a re-run of the autopsy again.” Elias said as he bowed slowly and left the study.

At the hospital

Elias drove off as fast as possible to the hospital to file another request for an autopsy. He had met with Dr. Brooklyn who he had a conversation with concerning Nathan's autopsy. After much hesitation,Dr. Brooklyn was convinced to do a rerun of an autopsy on Nathan's body.

The autopsy room was unnervingly silent, save for the low hum of the cooling system. A harsh white light bathed the space, making every surface—steel, tile, and glass—gleam coldly. The air carried the sterile tang of disinfectant, mixed faintly with the scent of seawater that clung to the body on the table.

Dr. Brooklyn stood at the head of the steel slab, a calm but focused presence. His eyes lingered on the lifeless form of Nathan, who had been pulled out from the ocean five days after he unconsciously drove over the bridge into the water. Nathan’s body, bloated and discolored, bore the unmistakable signs of prolonged submersion.

"Record everything," Brooklyn said, breaking the heavy quiet. His voice carried the authority of years spent in rooms just like this one.

A young assistant, clipboard in hand, nodded quickly and stepped closer. Brooklyn pulled back the sheet that covered Nathan’s body, revealing the water-logged skin beneath. Pale, waxy, and peeling at the extremities, it told a story that demanded unraveling.

"Signs of skin slippage," Brooklyn began, his gloved hand brushing Nathan’s forearm. "Consistent with immersion. Moderate bloating. Note the postmortem lividity patterns."

"Noted," the assistant murmured, her pen scratching across the paper.

Brooklyn leaned closer, his gaze locking onto a faint mark on Nathan’s right temple. He tilted the head slightly, his fingers probing the area with care. "Bruising here. Possible impact injury. Could have occurred when the vehicle went over."

The assistant frowned. "Do you think it’s relevant?"

"Too early to tell," Brooklyn said, straightening. His tone left no room for further questions. "Let's proceed."

With practiced precision, he reached for the scalpel. The team instinctively moved into place, one adjusting the overhead light, another readying tools for the internal examination.

Brooklyn made the incision, a clean Y-shaped cut running from Nathan’s shoulders to his abdomen. The blade moved with surgical ease, exposing the decomposed tissue beneath. The assistants worked in synchrony, their movements rehearsed but deliberate.

"Subcutaneous tissue shows no evidence of significant trauma," Brooklyn observed, peeling back the layers of skin. "Let’s open the thoracic cavity."

The sound of shears slicing through ribs echoed faintly as Brooklyn worked to expose the chest cavity. The lungs, when removed, told their own story.

"Foam in the airways," he said, holding a portion of lung tissue under the light. "Pink froth. Classic sign of drowning."

"But it doesn’t explain the sedation theory," one assistant ventured hesitantly.

Brooklyn didn’t look up. "It doesn’t disprove it either. Bag samples for toxicology—lungs, liver, kidneys. We need everything."

The hours passed methodically. The brain came last, removed with delicate care after Brooklyn sawed through the skull. "Cerebral edema," he noted, his voice softer now. "Swelling from trauma or hypoxia. Cause remains inconclusive."

Finally, Brooklyn stepped back, peeling off his gloves with a sharp snap. His gaze lingered on Nathan’s lifeless face.

"Let’s close him up," he said quietly, signaling the end of the procedure.

The team began cleaning the room, their movements brisk and practiced, while Brooklyn stood silently by the table, lost in thought.