Chapter 2 - The Poisoned Blood
I did not even blink as Harland aimed his weapon at the sick woman on the bed. My hand moved faster than his exhausted eyes could track. I drew the heavy pistol from my shoulder holster and fired a single warning shot into the wall right next to his ear. Harland dropped his weapon in pure shock and fell backward onto the hardwood floor. I kicked his gun across the room and grabbed him violently by the collar of his expensive shirt. I dragged him out into the hallway and threw him into the arms of my waiting security guards. I ordered them to lock Harland in the basement until I could figure out what he meant about the Rossi family. I immediately called Doctor Evans, my private syndicate physician, demanding he arrive at the estate within ten minutes. When the doctor finally rushed into the room, Clara was completely unresponsive and burning with a terrifying fever. Nora sat in the corner, clutching her knees to her chest and crying silently as the doctor worked. I knelt beside the little girl and promised her that everything was going to be perfectly fine. Doctor Evans drew a vial of Clara's blood and ran it through a portable rapid centrifuge he brought in his medical bag. The silence in the room was deafening as we waited for the chemical results to process. The machine beeped loudly, and all the professional calmness vanished entirely from the doctor's face. He looked at me with wide, terrified eyes, adjusting his glasses with trembling fingers. He told me that Clara was not suffering from a simple flu or an infection. She had been intentionally injected with a highly sophisticated, synthetic neurotoxin. I asked him if he had the necessary medical supplies to flush it out of her system. Doctor Evans shook his head miserably, stating that this specific poison was incredibly rare. He explained that it was a proprietary chemical weapon manufactured exclusively by Antonio Rossi. The poison was designed to slowly shut down the victim's organs over a period of exactly three days. I looked at Clara's pale face, my mind racing with violent, desperate calculations. I asked the doctor exactly how much time my housekeeper had left before the damage became permanent. He checked her vitals one more time, his expression growing incredibly grim and hopeless. He whispered that unless we secured the exact chemical antidote from the Rossi family, Clara would be dead in less than twenty-four hours.
