Chapter 6 - The Ghost in the Ward
Elijah’s blood ran cold. He didn't hesitate—he bolted out of the penthouse, slammed into the private elevator, and descended to the underground parking garage in a matter of seconds.
As his sports car roared out into the slick city streets, his mind raced with terrifying possibilities. Marcus was in custody. Cassandra was locked up. Who else could possibly pose a threat to Toby?
Ten minutes later, Elijah’s car screeched to a halt in front of the emergency entrance of St. Jude’s Hospital. He didn't bother parking in a designated stall; he threw the keys to a bewildered valet and sprinted through the automatic doors.
The pediatric wing was eerily quiet at midnight. The soft glow of the nursing station cast long shadows across the linoleum floor.
Elijah rounded the corner toward VIP Suite 402—and froze.
Dr. Naomi Wheeler was already there. She stood directly outside Toby’s open hospital door, her body tense, staring into the dimly lit room.
Gabriel and Fiona were slumped unconscious against the wall near the doorway, breathing heavily under the influence of a localized sedative gas.
"Naomi," Elijah whispered harshly, rushing forward. "What happened?"
Naomi held up a single finger to her lips, motioning for absolute silence. She pointed quietly into the room.
Inside, illuminated by the pale moonlight streaming through the window, stood a tall figure clad in black tactical gear and a surgical mask. The intruder was leaning over Toby’s hospital bed, holding a small syringe filled with a dark, amber liquid.
Toby was sleeping soundly, completely unaware of the danger looming inches above his face.
Elijah’s vision blurred with blind, animalistic fury. The billionaire businessman, the untouchable CEO, vanished entirely. Only the father remained.
Before Naomi could grab his arm to stop him, Elijah lunged through the doorway like a freight train, tackling the intruder squarely in the ribs.
The two men crashed violently onto the tiled floor, sending a metal tray of surgical instruments clattering across the room in a deafening cacophony of sound.
The intruder grunted, fighting back with vicious, professional training. A heavy metal fist slammed into Elijah’s jaw, splitting his lip, but Elijah didn't let go. He wrapped his hands around the intruder’s throat, pinning him to the floor with raw, unbridled strength.
"Who sent you?" Elijah snarled, his voice vibrating with murderous rage. "WHO?"
Naomi rushed into the room, flicking on the overhead lights. She grabbed the fallen syringe from the floor, securing it safely inside an emergency biohazard tube. Then, she dropped to her knees beside the struggling men, helping Elijah pin the intruder’s arms.
With a sharp wrench, Naomi reached down and tore the surgical mask off the intruder’s face.
Elijah’s breath caught in his throat.
It wasn't a hired assassin. It wasn't one of Marcus’s corporate thugs.
It was Julian Vance—Marcus’s younger brother and the lead biochemical researcher for Sherman Bio-Tech.
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Julian coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but a twisted, manic grin spread across his face as he stared up at Elijah and Naomi.
"You think Marcus acted alone?" Julian wheezed, laughing softly. "Marcus was just the front man. I engineered Aethel-C. And nobody... nobody destroys my life and gets away with it."
