Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Milk

The drive to the hospital was a blur of flashing green lights and tires screaming against asphalt. Dominic’s armored SUV blew through six red lights, flanked by two black sedans filled with armed men.

When we burst into Tyler’s ICU room, three of Dominic’s guards were holding a man in a white lab coat pinned against the wall. A shattered glass vial lay on the floor, leaking a clear liquid that hissed softly against the linoleum tile.

Tyler was sleeping heavily on the bed, monitor screens beeping in a steady, safe rhythm. I rushed to his side, tears spilling down my cheeks as I grabbed his cold, small hand.

“He’s stable,” a doctor brought in by Dominic assured me quickly. “The substance in that syringe was digitalis. In high doses, it causes cardiac arrest that looks entirely natural.”

I turned around, shaking with rage and terror, to look at the fake doctor pinned against the wall.

Dominic walked over to the man calmly. Without saying a single word, Dominic grabbed the man’s hand, placed it against the medical tray, and brought his heavy boot down.

A sickening CRACK echoed through the room. The man shrieked in agony.

“Who hired you?” Dominic asked, his voice calm, like he was asking about the weather.

“Moretti!” the fake doctor sobbed, clutching his broken hand. “Marcus Moretti! He said... he said if I killed the kid, the nanny would leave Vale! He said Vale needed to be distracted!”

Dominic looked at me. My hands were shaking uncontrollably against Tyler’s blanket.

“He didn’t want you distracted,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

Dominic frowned. “What?”

“Moretti didn’t want you distracted because of me,” I said, my voice rising as the puzzle pieces began to snap together in my head. “He wanted me fired so Noah wouldn’t have anyone protecting him! The night I arrived, Mrs. Hargrove was feeding Noah a warm glass of milk before bed. Noah hated it. He threw it across the floor!”

Dominic stepped closer to me, his dark eyes narrowing. “Go on.”

“Noah isn’t violent because he’s crazy, Mr. Vale,” I said, tears burning my eyes. “He’s violent because he’s being poisoned! The milk! Mrs. Hargrove was slipping something into his food to make him lose his mind, to make him look unstable so you’d keep him hidden away in the mansion!”

Dominic turned to his head of security, a giant man named Frank. “Where is Eleanor Hargrove right now?”

Frank looked down at his tablet, pressing his earpiece. A second later, Frank’s face went deadly pale.

“Boss...” Frank swallowed hard. “The safehouse in Evanston... the guards posted outside just stopped radio check-in. Hargrove is gone.”

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