Chapter 4 - The Midnight Deadline
Arthur bolted out of the holding room, the heavy steel door slamming behind him with a resonant boom. His mind was spinning into an abyss of cold panic.
"Vance!" Arthur roared down the corridor.
Julian Vance met him halfway, his hand already resting on the grip of his concealed firearm. "What happened? I heard the shouting."
"Morris," Arthur choked out, his vision tunneling. "Dr. Morris. Where is he?!"
"He left the manor fifteen minutes ago," Vance said, his face tightening. "He said he had an emergency c-section at St. Luke’s. He finished dressing Lily's knees, gave her a mild pediatric sedative to help her sleep through the shock, and—"
"A sedative?!" Arthur grabbed Vance’s lapels, his strength nearly lifting the former operative off his feet. "He poisoned Clara, Julian! Evelyn just confessed! David Vance and Morris murdered Clara! And Morris just gave my daughter a sedative!"
Vance’s face drained of all color. Without a word, both men sprinted toward the main staircase of the manor, their dress shoes skidding across the polished marble.
They took the stairs three at a time. The grand house, usually a sanctuary of refined elegance, now felt like a mausoleum of suffocating shadows. Arthur burst into Lily’s bedroom on the third floor, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
The room was dimly lit by a soft pink nightlight in the shape of a star. On the four-poster canopy bed, Lily lay beneath a goose-down duvet. Beside the bed sat Mrs. Gable, the elderly head housekeeper, dozing in an armchair.
"Lily!" Arthur breathed, rushing to the bedside.
Mrs. Gable startled awake, blinking through her spectacles. "Mr. Arthur? What is it? She just fell asleep—"
Arthur didn't answer. He threw back the duvet. Lily lay on her side, her auburn hair spread across the pillow. Her breathing was shallow—too shallow. Her small lips were tinted with a faint, terrifying shade of lavender. On the nightstand sat a half-empty glass of warm milk and an empty glass vial labeled *Pediatric Diphenhydramine*.
Arthur grabbed Lily’s limp wrist. Her pulse was thready, fluttering like the wing of an exhausted moth.
"Call the medevac! NOW!" Arthur screamed at Vance, gathering his daughter into his arms. Lily’s head lolled back against his chest, her skin clammy and cold. "Lily! Lily, look at Daddy! Wake up, baby, wake up!"
"Cell towers are down," Vance barked from the doorway, staring at his tactical radio with dread. "The estate's private fiber line was just severed at the gatehouse. We have an active communications blackout."
"The landline?" Mrs. Gable cried in horror.
"Dead," Vance said. He looked out the bay window overlooking the long, tree-lined driveway. Down at the main gates, a pair of black SUVs had turned off their headlights and were idling horizontally across the exit, sealing the estate from the outside world.
"It wasn't an escape," Vance realized, his voice turning deadly cold. "Morris didn't leave to flee. He left to trigger the contingency. Today wasn't just the Solstice Gala, Arthur. Today was the annual Board of Directors proxy deadline. By 8:00 AM tomorrow morning, if you are incapacitated or dead, David Vance assumes temporary executive chairmanship under the emergency continuity clause."
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"They don't want a divorce," Arthur said, clutching Lily's fragile body against his chest, feeling the terrifyingly weak beat of her tiny heart. "They never wanted a divorce. They're going to kill us tonight."
***
