Chapter 17 - The First Rescue
The morning fog hung thick over the rolling hills of Greenwich, Connecticut, when Ethan’s black Maybach pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of the Sterling Manor.
According to Vance’s decrypted ledger, Sterling Manor was the home of eight-year-old Lily Sterling. Her parents had died in a private plane crash three years ago, leaving her as the sole heir to a ninety-million-dollar real estate trust.
Her court-appointed guardian was Dr. Julian Mercer—a longtime associate of Warren Vance and the chief of pediatric medicine at a private sanitarium in Hartford.
“Mercer doesn't know Vance has fully cooperated,” Ethan said as the car idled outside the gate. He was wearing a dark, impeccably tailored three-piece suit, his corporate power radiating off him like heat from an engine. “He thinks Vance is out on bail and fighting the federal charges. He doesn't know federal marshals are sitting three miles down the road waiting for my signal.”
“What’s the play?” I asked, adjusting the lapels of my tailored navy coat. In my leather satchel were three portable diagnostic testing kits and a dose of reversal antagonist supplied by Dr. Marcus Chen.
“We don't give him time to hide behind his attorneys,” Ethan said coldly. “We walk in as the prospective buyers for the Sterling commercial trust portfolio. Mercer has been trying to liquidate twenty million in real estate to fund his ‘experimental clinical wing.’ I’m here to write the check.”
Ethan tapped the intercom. “Ethan Caldwell for Dr. Mercer.”
The gates swung open within five seconds.
The Sterling mansion was even more desolate than the Caldwell estate had been. Dead leaves littered the sweeping stone drive; the grand fountain in the courtyard was dry and cracked. It was a house being slowly bled to death by people who didn't care about anything except the balance sheet.
Dr. Julian Mercer met us in the grand foyer. He was a small, round-shouldered man with slicked-back thinning hair and gold-rimmed spectacles, wiping his hands nervously with a silk handkerchief.
“Mr. Caldwell!” Mercer beamed, his voice oily and fawning. “What an absolute honor! When your office called this morning about the commercial portfolio, I could hardly believe it! And who is this lovely young woman? An associate from your acquisitions team?”
“Claire is my senior welfare consultant,” Ethan said smoothly, stepping into the foyer without waiting for an invitation. “She reviews all pediatric trust assets before I authorize liquid capital disbursements.”
Mercer’s smile tightened slightly. “Ah. Well, of course. Though I assure you, Lily’s trust is managed with the utmost clinical integrity. The poor child... severe juvenile spinal muscular atrophy. Type two. Completely non-ambulatory. It takes an immense amount of capital just to maintain her specialized pulmonary equipment.”
“I’d like to see her,” I said directly.
Mercer blinked, his spectacles slipping down his nose. “Now? Oh, I’m afraid Lily is resting. Her morning infusion of neuro-stabilizers usually leaves her quite fatigued. Dr. Vance’s proprietary protocol, you understand. We follow it religiously.”
“I know Vance’s protocol very well,” Ethan said, his voice dropping into that chilling, lethal register I knew so well. “In fact, Warren and I discussed it in great detail on Tuesday.”
Mercer froze. “You... you spoke with Warren?”
“We did,” Ethan said, stepping closer until Mercer had to crane his neck back to maintain eye contact. “Right before the federal grand jury handed down forty-six counts of racketeering against him.”
Mercer’s face turned the color of damp chalk. He took a frantic step back toward the grand staircase. “I... I don't know what you’re talking about! If you aren't here about the real estate purchase, I must ask you to leave my property immediately! Security!”
Before Mercer could shout again, Ethan reached out, grabbed the lapels of his tweed jacket, and shoved him violently against the antique console table. A porcelain vase rattled, wobbling on the edge.
“Where is Lily?” Ethan growled, his face inches from the doctor’s terrified eyes.
“Upstairs!” Mercer squeaked, his glasses crooked, his hands clawing at Ethan’s steel grip. “Room 204! But she’s sick! She’s truly sick! I was just following Warren’s clinical guidelines!”
Ethan didn't waste another second. He shoved Mercer down onto the marble floor and looked at me. “Go.”
I sprinted up the stairs, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Room 204 was locked from the outside with an electronic keypad deadbolt. I grabbed an antique brass candlestick from the hallway console and smashed the digital keypad until the circuit sparked, kicking the heavy door open with all my weight.
Inside, the room was dim, the curtains drawn tight.
Lying in a high-sided orthopedic bed was a little girl with long, tangled blonde hair. She looked no older than six, though her chart said eight. She was so thin her collarbones looked like bird wings beneath her cotton nightgown.
Beside her bed was an automated IV pump, clicking softly as it delivered a milky, viscous fluid through a port in her arm.
“Lily?” I whispered, rushing to the bedside.
The little girl slowly turned her head. Her blue eyes were clouded, her pupils sluggish, her breathing shallow and raspy.
“Are you... the new nurse?” she whispered, her voice reedy and cracked. “My legs hurt... please make the medicine stop...”
Tears of blinding rage burned in my eyes.
I didn't hesitate. I reached up and ripped the IV tubing directly out of the pump, tearing the spike from the bag of poison.
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“It’s over, Lily,” I whispered, gathering her fragile, shivering body into my arms, wrapping her in the heavy wool blanket from the chair. “The bad medicine is gone. You’re coming home with us.”
***