Chapter 7 - The Enemy Within the Gates
The fourteen hours leading up to the arrival of Nikolai’s mobile bio-lab were the longest of my life.
While Dr. Yates monitored the twins’ stabilization in the glass suite, Clara and I worked side-by-side in the study, pouring over medical files, cross-referencing genetic markers, and mapping out the precise formulation of the organic lipid chelating agent.
By dawn, the torrential rain had cleared, leaving behind a cold, gray Chicago morning that seemed to mirror the bleakness of our situation.
At 6:00 AM, Prescott knocked urgently on the study door and stepped inside, his face etched with grim concentration.
“Boss, we have a problem. Not outside—inside.”
I looked up from the medical charts. “Explain.”
“One of the domestic staff—Mrs. Higgins, the head housekeeper who’s been with the estate for ten years—tried to access the service elevator shaft leading to the medical suite at 4:30 this morning.”
My muscles instantly coiled like a struck spring. “Why would Higgins be down by the service shaft at dawn?”
“She wasn't cleaning,” Prescott said, dropping a heavy, encrypted burner phone onto the desk. “I intercepted her trying to transmit an encrypted burst message to an external relay tower registered to a shell company owned by Vanguard Bio-Health.”
The room went dead silent.
Mrs. Higgins. The woman who had baked birthday cakes for Jonah and Blythe. The woman who had held my hand at Genevieve’s funeral.
“A mole,” I whispered, a dark, suffocating rage rising in my chest. “How long has she been on their payroll?”
“At least six months,” Prescott said grimly. “They were paying her fifty thousand a month to provide weekly updates on the twins' health, security rotations, and visitor logs. She’s the one who leaked their medical condition to Vanguard in the first place.”
Clara closed her eyes, letting out a ragged, heartbroken breath. “That’s how they knew the exact dosage schedule Dr. Yates was using... they were adjusting the parameters from the inside.”
I didn't yell. I didn't smash a glass or put my fist through the wall. When the betrayal hit this close to bone, anger didn't manifest as noise; it turned into absolute, freezing zero.
“Where is she now?” I asked quietly.
“Locked in the basement holding room,” Prescott replied.
“Bring her up.”
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Higgins was pushed into the center of my study by two guards. The old woman was trembling, her gray hair disheveled, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks.
“Mr. Mercer... Mr. Mercer, please!” she sobbed, collapsing onto her knees before my desk. “They threatened my son! He was deep in gambling debt with loan sharks tied to Vane’s syndicate! Vanguard paid off his debts, but only on the condition that I... that I kept them informed about the children—”
“You had ten years in this house, Higgins,” I interrupted, my voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the room like a razor blade. “You ate at our table. You watched my children grow up. And you sold their lives for fifty thousand dollars a month.”
“I didn't want them to die! They promised they wouldn't hurt the twins, they just wanted medical data—”
“They wanted them dead,” Clara said, stepping forward out of the shadows, her voice trembling with righteous fury. “Just like they wanted Genevieve dead.”
I stood up slowly, walking around the desk until I stood over the weeping housekeeper. I didn’t look down at her with anger; I looked at her with the cold, hollow detachment of an executioner.
“Prescott,” I said, never breaking eye contact with the woman.
“Boss?”
“Pack a bag for her. Give her fifty thousand dollars in cash—the exact amount Vanguard paid her for my children’s lives.”
Higgins looked up, a flicker of bewildered hope crossing her tear-stained face. “Mr. Mercer... you’re letting me go?”
“You’re going to take that money,” I continued, my voice devoid of any human warmth, “and you are going to walk out the front gates. You will never set foot in Chicago again. If you or your son are ever spotted within five hundred miles of this state, I won't have Prescott kill you. I will personally hunt you down and remind you what happens to people who trade in blood.”
Higgins whimpered, scrambling backward on her hands and knees before scrambling out the door escorted by the guards, never to be seen again.
When the heavy doors clicked shut, Clara let out a long, shuddering breath, leaning against the edge of the desk.
“You showed mercy,” she murmured.
“I showed exile,” I corrected coldly. “In my world, exile is a much slower, more painful death than a bullet.”
May you like
Before Clara could reply, the deep, thunderous chop of heavy helicopter rotor blades vibrated through the reinforced glass of the study windows.
Nikolai’s mobile bio-lab had arrived.
