Chapter 3 - The Live Feed & The Race Against Time
Ethan’s mind raced with absolute clarity. The grief of seven years vanished, replaced by an overwhelming need to protect. He immediately ordered his head of security to lock down the estate. “Locate Victor Blackwood right now. Tear the city apart if you have to.” As the guards dragged a sobbing Nora away to the holding cells, Ethan turned back to his daughter, wanting to hold her but afraid of scaring her.
Then Lily pulled gently at his expensive sleeve. “Daddy?” she whispered, testing the word on her lips. It was the most beautiful sound Ethan had ever heard. “Yes, Lily? What is it, sweetheart?” She reached deep into the pocket of her yellow pajamas and handed him a cheap, prepaid smartphone she had stolen from Nora's bag. On the glowing screen was a live, black-and-white hidden camera feed streaming from a sterile, windowless room.
A painfully thin woman lay completely unconscious in a locked, padded bed, hooked up to countless IV drips and monitors. Her beautiful face bore the faded, tragic scars of severe burn injuries, but Ethan recognized her instantly. The shape of her jaw, the elegant curve of her nose—it was Amelia. His beloved wife was alive, locked away in a chemical coma for seven years. The time stamp in the corner showed the video was currently live.
Suddenly, the heavy metal door to Amelia’s room on the screen opened. A tall, sharply dressed man stepped inside the frame carrying a large, metallic syringe. It was Victor Blackwood. Lily looked up at Ethan, her large eyes wide with pure dread. “He told Aunt Nora that after you drank the tea, Mommy was next.”
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Ethan exploded into motion. “HAYES! KEEP HER SAFE!” he bellowed to his doctor, gently pushing Lily toward the trusted man. He bolted out of the dining room and smashed his fist against the emergency panic alarm, painting the mansion in flashing red lights. “Alpha Team, mobilize!” he yelled into his smartwatch. He threw himself into the driver's seat of the lead armored G-Wagon, with three other black SUVs falling into a tight convoy behind him.
The heavy vehicle tore through the iron gates of the estate. Propping the stolen phone on his dashboard, he checked the GPS coordinates embedded in the streaming app's background data. The underground facility was hidden beneath an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district, a twenty-five-minute drive away. On the screen, Victor was already tapping the syringe to remove the air bubbles. Ethan had less than ten minutes before his wife was murdered on live video. He floored the accelerator, swerving through nighttime traffic and taking corners at eighty miles per hour. “Hold on, Amelia,” Ethan prayed aloud, gripping the steering wheel. “Just hold on.”
