Chapter 4 - THE MEMORIAL GENERAL INVITATIONThe digital clock on the vault wall glared in the dim subterranean light: 1:15 AM.
"It's a trap," Gabriel said immediately, his posture dropping into a combat stance. "Mercer has the entire hospital locked down with private security. If we walk onto that helipad, we’re walking into an execution zone."
"Of course it's a trap," Sebastian replied calmly, though his eyes were fixed on the dark river water visible through the high reinforced grates of the brewery. "Mercer is cornered. For twenty years, he played God with my spine and embezzled enough money to buy a small European nation. If I walk back into society upright, his entire legacy vanishes into a prison cell. He has no choice but to eliminate us."
I turned away from Oliver’s sleeping form, my hands shaking slightly as I wiped them down my jeans. "We can't go to the police. Mercer has deep political connections across Cook County—everyone from precinct captains to federal judges is on his payroll. If we walk into Memorial General, we’re on our own."
"Good," Sebastian said, looking up at me with an expression that sent a strange, unexpected jolt through my chest. "Because in my world, the police are just uniforms you haven't paid enough yet. But you and I? We have unfinished business."
He reached down to grip the sides of his legs, his fingers digging into the heavy fabric of his trousers. I watched in absolute silence as a faint, trembling muscle spasm rippled down his quad, fighting against decades of pharmaceutical suppression.
"Sebastian, stop," I warned gently, stepping closer. "Your nervous system is waking up too fast. If you force full weight-bearing before we flush the remaining peptide blockers from your bloodstream, you'll tear the stabilizing ligaments around L4 and L5."
"Then help me flush them, Clare," he challenged, looking up at me with an intensity that defied argument. "You said my diagnosis deserved to be questioned. Prove it."
Gabriel let out a short, dry scoff, though a grudging respect flickered in his dark eyes. "You’re both out of your minds. But if we’re going to crash Mercer’s little party, we need hardware. Heavy hardware."
He walked over to a heavy steel locker in the corner of the vault and kicked it open, revealing an arsenal of submachine guns, breaching charges, and tactical vests that made my stomach knot.
"What's the play, boss?" Gabriel asked, tossing a Kevlar vest toward Sebastian's chair.
Sebastian caught it with one hand, his shoulders shifting with powerful, athletic grace. "We don't sneak in through the basement. Mercer expects us to crawl through the emergency intake like frightened rats. Instead, we take the corporate freight elevator straight to the penthouse executive suite. We pay our dear doctor a little house call."
"And Oliver?" I asked, my voice cracking with maternal panic. "I am not leaving my son unprotected."
"Marcus and four of my best men are sealing this vault," Sebastian assured me, his voice softening just enough for me to hear the absolute vow behind it. "No one gets in here without a biometric override and a bulletproof vest. But if you want to keep that boy safe for the next twenty years, Clare, you need to help me walk through those hospital doors."
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I looked down at my hands—the same hands that had massaged exhausted waitresses and construction workers for cash. Now, they were holding the fate of Chicago’s most dangerous man.
"Get the medical kit," I told Gabriel, taking a deep, steadying breath. "We have twenty minutes to prep an enzymatic flush for Sebastian’s lumbar spine, or his legs will buckle under him the second he stands up."
