Chapter 7 - THE SIX YEARS THEY STOLE FROM MY MOTHER
I read the medical instruction three times.
My mother's name remained on the page.
So did the date.
So did the words that made my hands go numb.
LOW-DOSE EXPOSURE.
Adrian stopped fighting.
Damian looked toward the folder.
His expression changed.
“That isn't what you think.”
I laughed.
It came out broken.
“Really?”
“Nora—”
“You knew she was sick.”
He stood slowly.
“I knew Marcus was monitoring her.”
“Monitoring?”
My voice rose.
“She spent years vomiting. Her hands shook. She lost her ability to work. She died unable to recognize me some mornings.”
Damian said nothing.
I stepped toward him.
“Did you poison my mother?”
He looked away.
That was answer enough to destroy me.
But not enough for a court.
Not enough for justice.
So I forced myself to stop.
My nursing instructors had drilled one thing into us.
When panic enters the room, find the next necessary action.
My next necessary action was keeping Adrian alive.
Not murdering Damian.
I closed the folder.
“You're going to answer questions.”
Damian laughed.
“To whom? The police? You think Adrian wants them inside his life?”
I looked toward Adrian.
For years, men like him had handled problems in shadows.
Threats.
Deals.
Violence.
Now the choice was his.
Adrian slowly stood.
Then he said something that surprised both of us.
“Yes.”
Damian stared.
“What?”
Adrian’s voice was weak but steady.
“She deserves the truth.”
Damian laughed.
“You'd expose everything?”
“If that's what it takes.”
For the first time, I saw panic in Damian's eyes.
He turned toward the hidden staircase.
Adrian grabbed his sleeve.
Damian struck him across the injured leg.
Adrian collapsed.
I swung the flashlight into Damian's shoulder.
He stumbled.
Then ran.
I started after him.
Adrian shouted, “Let him go.”
I stopped.
“He’ll escape.”
“He won't get far in this storm.”
I hated that he was right.
I returned to Adrian.
His fever was climbing.
The puncture site on his thigh was swollen.
We needed actual medical care.
I searched the wine cellar and found an old landline connection used for the security system.
Dead.
Then I remembered the estate radio backup.
“Where’s the security room?”
“East wing.”
“Can we reach it through the tunnels?”
Adrian nodded.
We moved slowly through the service passage.
Halfway there, he stumbled.
I caught him.
His head rested briefly against my shoulder.
“You should leave me.”
I stared.
“That's a ridiculous idea.”
“Nora.”
“No.”
His eyes opened.
“You don't owe me anything.”
I looked at him.
The man who humiliated me.
The man who stayed silent while another man insulted me.
The man whose family may have destroyed my mother.
He was right.
I owed him nothing.
So I told him the truth.
“I'm not doing this because I owe you.”
His expression changed.
“Then why?”
“Because I don't let people die when I can help them.”
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then he whispered, “Your mother would be proud.”
I nearly broke.
“Don't.”
He nodded.
We kept moving.
When we reached the security room, the backup radio still worked.
Barely.
I transmitted an emergency request.
Static.
Then a voice.
Faint.
“Cross estate, repeat.”
Relief nearly dropped me to my knees.
I gave the location, Adrian's condition, and the suspected poisoning.
They warned that road access could take hours.
A state police snow vehicle and emergency medical team would attempt to reach us.
Then the radio operator said something unexpected.
“Be advised, ma'am. We have an active warrant request involving one Damian Cross.”
Adrian looked toward me.
I frowned.
“For what?”
Static cracked.
Then the answer came.
“Financial crimes and suspected homicide conspiracy.”
My stomach tightened.
The operator continued.
“And there’s another name on the request.”
“Who?”
“Marcus Vale.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
For twelve years, the men closest to him had lived beside the secret of Elena's death.
And someone outside his empire had finally started investigating.
Then the operator added one final detail.
“The complaint was filed three weeks ago.”
I stared at Adrian.
“By whom?”
The voice answered.
May you like
“Diane Bennett.”
My mother had filed it after her death.
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