Chapter 6 - The Visitor Arrives
Dr. Aris Vance stepped out onto the marble landing, carrying his sleek leather medical case in his left hand. He looked impeccably groomed as always, his silver hair neatly parted, his gold-rimmed glasses catching the morning light pouring through the stairwell window.
He didn't knock on Lucas’s door. He simply pressed his thumb against the digital smart-lock, letting himself in with the casual familiarity of a man who owned the place.
"Good morning, Lorenzo," Vance said smoothly, stepping into the bedroom without looking up from his tablet. "I reviewed the overnight telemetry. The heart rate stabilized around forty BPM, which is expected given the—"
Vance stopped dead.
The room was pitch black. The heavy velvet drapes blocked out every ray of morning sunlight. The only illumination came from the faint, rhythmic blue glow of the medical monitor in the corner.
And sitting directly in the leather armchair, completely blocking the path to the bed, was Lorenzo Duca.
Vance’s professional smile faltered for a fraction of a second—a tiny, micro-expression of panic that only a predator like Lorenzo would catch. "Lorenzo? Is something wrong? Why is the room dark?"
"Vance," Lorenzo said softly. His voice didn't carry any anger. It was quiet, steady, and entirely dead. "Come closer."
Vance swallowed, forcing a nervous chuckle as he took a step forward, setting his leather case down on the edge of the mahogany desk. "Now, see here, Mr. Duca, if you're upset about the treatment trajectory—"
Clack.
The distinct, unmistakable sound of a firearm hammer being pulled back echoed through the silent room.
Vance froze. His eyes darted toward the desk, then down to Lorenzo’s right hand, which now rested openly on his lap, holding the heavy Colt directly aligned with the center of Vance’s chest.
"Mr. Duca... what is the meaning of this?" Vance stammered, his aristocratic composure cracking down the middle. "I have dedicated three years of my life to keeping your son alive! I am the only reason—"
"You are the reason he’s dying," Lorenzo interrupted, his tone flat.
With his left hand, Lorenzo slid the evidence bag containing the leather pouch, the crushed plastic vial, and the signed chemical formula across the polished wood of the desk until it bumped against Vance’s leather case.
May you like
Vance looked down at the bag. All the color drained completely from his face, leaving his skin the color of skim milk. His knees buckled slightly, and he had to grip the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing.
"Where... where did you find that?" Vance whispered, the professional facade completely shattered.
