Chapter 5 - THE LAB COAT IN THE BEDROOM
The barrel of my Sig Sauer remained locked on the center of Dr. Evelyn Vance’s chest. The air in the guest room felt heavy, charged with a lethal static that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
Dr. Vance didn’t flinch. She didn’t raise her hands in surrender. She simply stood there with that cold, professional smile, looking at the gun as if it were a slightly rude gesture at a dinner party.
“You’ve broken into private property, Dr. Vance,” I said, my voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. “And you’re standing in the bedroom of an eight-year-old child under my protection. You have five seconds to explain why I shouldn't put a bullet through your shoulder.”
Marcus stepped past me, his own weapon raised, locking the door behind us so nobody could enter or leave.
Evelyn finally let out a soft, dismissive sigh. She adjusted the cuffs of her immaculate white lab coat.
“Mr. Vale, please. Put the gun away. It’s terribly uncivilized,” she said smoothly, her eyes darting briefly to Noah before returning to me. “We aren’t enemies. In fact, if you look at the bigger picture, Vanguard Medical has done more for your family than you realize.”
My finger tightened slightly on the trigger. “You crippled my children three years ago.”
Evelyn tilted her head, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her face. “Crippled? Oh, dear. Is that what you think happened? You truly believe a multi-billion-dollar biotech firm went to the trouble of staging a highway collision just to ruin your corporate acquisition?”
“It wasn't a standard collision,” I snapped, dropping the charred letterhead and police report onto the foot of the bed. “Your shell corporation, Apex Holdings, owned the vehicle. Your logo was burned into the wreckage.”
Evelyn glanced down at the papers without picking them up. A cold, humorless chuckle escaped her lips.
“Apex Holdings is a holding shell, Mr. Vale. We own hundreds of them. But we didn't order a hit on your children,” she said, her voice dropping its artificial warmth, turning sharp and clinical. “We were testing a prototype spinal neuro-regenerative compound. The vehicle carrying the test sample was intercepted by a rival operative trying to steal our research. Your family’s van was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The justification was so monstrously casual—so devoid of human value—that a hot wave of rage surged through my chest.
“In the wrong place?” I stepped closer, the barrel of my gun inches from her chest. “You destroyed my children’s lives. You turned my home into a hospital. And you call it collateral damage?”
“And yet,” Evelyn countered, her eyes locking onto mine with unnerving intensity, “your children are walking today, aren't they?”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
I froze.
Noah—who had been silent, curled against the pillows—suddenly gripped the blanket tighter.
“How do you know they’re walking?” I demanded, my voice dangerously quiet. “We kept the ballroom miracle private. There were no cameras allowed.”
Evelyn smiled, a truly terrifying expression. “Mr. Vale, do you really think an eight-year-old homeless boy wandering the streets of Chicago managed to miraculously heal two paralyzed children by magic? Science isn't magic. It’s bio-engineering.”
She turned her gaze fully onto Noah.
“Noah isn't homeless, Mr. Vale. He’s Subject 4.”
Noah let out a small, terrified sob, burying his face in his hands.
“What did you say?” I snarled, grabbing Evelyn by the lapel of her lab coat and shoving her hard against the wall. The gun pressed firmly against her throat.
“He’s a genetically modified subject from our subterranean research facility,” Evelyn gasped, her composure finally cracking under the pressure. “The compound we were testing three years ago wasn't just designed to heal nerve damage. It was designed to transfer cellular regeneration through tactile contact. Noah was engineered to be a living conduit. When he touched your children, he didn't cure them by miracle—he drained the residual compound left in their spines from the original crash site and redirected it into their nervous systems!”
The room spun.
I looked back at Noah. The boy was shaking violently, tears streaming down his face.
“She’s lying,” Noah sobbed, his voice cracking. “I’m not a monster. I’m just a boy.”
“You’re corporate property, Noah,” Evelyn hissed, struggling against my grip. “And you’re coming back with me. The board wants the boy, and they want the silver bracelet containing his biological tracking data.”
Before Evelyn could move another muscle, the heavy oak door of the guest room suddenly flew open with a deafening crash.
May you like
Standing in the doorway, panting heavily, was Claire.
And behind her stood a dozen armed tactical officers wearing the insignia of the federal government—led by a stern-faced FBI Special Agent who leveled an assault rifle straight at Dr. Evelyn Vance’s head.
