Chapter 11 - The Race to the Hospital
My phone vibrated violently in my coat pocket, shattering the silence of the study.
I snatched it out, pressing the receiver to my ear.
"Ethan?!" a frantic voice called out over the speaker. It was Dr. Aris, the chief pediatric surgeon at St. Jude’s Hospital.
"Doctor! How is she?!" I shouted, gripping the paper letter tight in my fist.
"We have Claire in operating room three," Dr. Aris reported rapidly. "We've administered an emergency reversing agent for the nerve toxin, but her blood pressure is dropping dangerously low! We are performing an emergency C-section right now to save your son!"
"I'm on my way!" I yelled, stuffing the letter, the financial ledgers, and the glass vials from the safe into my leather briefcase.
I sprinted out of the study, down the grand staircase, and past the living room.
Two state trooper cruisers were parked in the driveway outside, their lights painting the front porch in flashing red and blue.
My mother and brother were currently sitting in the back of separate patrol cars, handcuffed, as detectives gathered physical evidence from the living room—including the velvet-lined coffin.
My mother looked out through the tinted glass of the police cruiser, her eyes locking onto mine as I ran toward my car.
Her face was no longer that of an aristocratic matriarch.
She looked small, defeated, and exposed.
May you like
I didn't stop to look at her.
I threw my briefcase into the passenger seat of my sedan, slammed the gearshift into drive, and tore down the gravel driveway toward the hospital with tires screaming against the road.
