Chapter 3 - The Race Against Midnight
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The wail of private sirens tore through the stormy Chicago night outside the iron gates.
Dr. Gabriel Rossi, the Moretti family’s private physician for over twenty-five years, burst through the double doors.
Two heavily armed medical attendants followed close behind him, carrying emergency diagnostic equipment and medical kits.
Dr. Rossi took one look at Luca collapsed on the floor and immediately dropped to his knees.
“What did he consume, Claire?” the doctor demanded, tearing open Luca’s silk shirt to attach cardiac leads.
“He ate half a plate of roasted quail and drank two sips of Chianti before collapsing,” I reported with precision.
“I forced him to purge with warm salt water less than three minutes after ingestion,” I added steadily.
Dr. Rossi checked the portable monitor, which was beeping with a terrifying, irregular rhythm.
“Your fast thinking saved his heart from stopping on the spot,” Dr. Rossi said grimly.
The doctor plunged a syringe of atropine directly into the IV line his assistant had quickly established.
Frank sat huddled on a nearby chair, clutching the silver voice recorder tightly against his chest.
“Is my boy going to make it, Gabriel?” Frank asked, his fragile voice trembling with raw despair.
Dr. Rossi looked up at his lifelong friend with deep empathy.
“He’s strong, Frank, but we need to move him to the medical suite upstairs immediately.”
Marco and three loyal guards lifted Luca onto an emergency gurney.
Luca’s hand reached out blindly through the chaos, his fingers brushing against mine.
“Claire...” he muttered through blue-tinged lips, fighting to stay conscious.
“I'm right here, sir,” I whispered, holding his calloused hand firmly until the elevator doors closed.
Down in the dining room, the wealthy guests stood frozen, terrified to make a single move.
Vanessa was sitting on the floor in the corner, her glamorous designer gown crumpled around her.
Her mascara had smeared down her cheeks, but her eyes held a venomous, cornered rage.
“This is all a misunderstanding!” she yelled toward the silent room.
“The maid poisoned him to frame me!” she screamed, pointing an acrylic nail directly at me.
Marco walked over to her slowly, his heavy boots resounding on the polished floor.
“Save your breath for the boss, Vanessa,” Marco said coldly, snapping zip-ties tightly around her wrists.
“You forgot that the old man recorded your voice speaking with your lover,” Marco reminded her without pity.
Frank walked up to Vanessa, standing taller than I had seen him stand in three agonizing months.
The old man looked down at the woman who had starved him and stolen his life-saving medicine.
“My wife Rosa built this family from nothing with her bare hands,” Frank said softly, his voice full of sorrow.
“You thought you could poison my son and throw me into an asylum to steal what we bled for,” Frank added.
Vanessa spat at the floor near Frank’s polished shoes, revealing her true, hideous colors.
“You should have died five years ago, you decrepit old fool!” she hissed with pure hatred.
Marco yanked her to her feet and shoved her toward the private security office in the basement.
I took Frank’s trembling arm and guided him gently toward the private elevator.
“Come, Mr. Frank,” I said warmly.
May you like
“Let's go sit beside your son while the medicine cleanses his body.”
We rode the elevator up to the third floor, where the battle for Luca Moretti’s life was just beginning.
