Chapter 3 - The Chemical Threat
Eleanor locked the heavy hospital door behind her with a quiet click.
She walked purposefully toward my bed, her eyes fixed on my IV line.
"Julian is far too soft, Clara," she said in a chillingly calm voice.
"He actually thinks signing those papers means our problems are solved."
She tapped the side of the plastic syringe, flicking away a tiny air bubble.
"But I know that as long as you are breathing, you will try to take your buildings back."
I frantically tried to push myself backward against the pillows.
The burning agony in my shoulder flared aggressively with every movement.
"The cameras in the hallway will see you," I warned her, my voice trembling.
Eleanor smiled a terrifying, confident smile.
"The cameras on this floor have been disabled for routine maintenance for the last hour."
She grabbed my arm forcefully, her sharp fingernails digging into my skin.
I kicked out wildly, knocking a metal tray of surgical instruments onto the floor.
The loud crash echoed through the silent VIP hospital suite.
Eleanor ignored the noise and moved the needle dangerously close to my plastic IV tube.
"This is just a highly concentrated dose of potassium," she whispered.
"It will look like your heart simply gave out from the intense trauma of your burns."
Suddenly, the heavy door handle violently rattled from the outside.
A loud, authoritative voice shouted for the door to be opened immediately.
Eleanor panicked, quickly hiding the deadly syringe inside her designer purse.
The door burst open, and Mr. Vance, my late father's ruthless corporate lawyer, stepped into the room.
Two massive private security guards flanked him on either side.
Mr. Vance adjusted his glasses and glared intensely at my mother-in-law.
"Step away from my client immediately, Eleanor," he demanded.
Eleanor put on a fake smile, pretending she was just adjusting my blankets.
"I was merely checking on my dear daughter-in-law," she lied smoothly.
She quickly rushed past the guards and disappeared down the hallway.
Mr. Vance walked over to my bed and pulled a sealed envelope from his briefcase.
"Julian tried to process the asset transfers ten minutes ago," the old lawyer said.
"But we have a much bigger problem than just the stolen buildings, Clara."
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He opened the envelope and showed me a terrifying photograph.
It was a picture of my younger sister, tied to a chair in a dark, concrete basement.
