Chapter 4 - The Syringe and the Secret
I watched the footage until my eyes burned,
replaying the moment Victor entered the nursery.
He didn't notice the tiny lens hidden in the smoke detector.
He walked to Sophie’s crib first.
The way he moved was clinical,
cold,
devoid of the warmth he always showed when I was watching.
He lifted the syringe,
the needle catching the moonlight.
He didn't inject her,
not directly.
He sprayed the liquid onto the vents of the heater,
and then onto the fabric of their bedding.
It wasn't a quick kill.
It was an inhalant,
something meant to cause respiratory distress.
Something that would look like a natural illness brought on by a cold winter.
I felt a wave of nausea.
If Emma hadn't smelled the chemical,
if she hadn't moved them to the barn,
my daughters would have suffocated in their sleep.
The "fever" Sophie had wasn't a cold.
It was a reaction to whatever poison Victor was distributing.
I grabbed a thumb drive and copied the footage,
my hands finally steadying.
The fear was gone,
replaced by a cold,
calculating need for justice.
But I couldn't move yet.
Victor had guards everywhere.
He controlled the payroll.
He controlled the communication lines.
If I struck now,
I would be one man against an army of mercenaries.
I needed an ally.
I thought of Emma Carter,
locked in the service office,
waiting to be handed over to a sheriff who was likely on Victor’s payroll.
I left the security room,
acting as if I had seen nothing but static.
I walked down the long,
mahogany-lined hallway toward the service wing.
The guard at the door was one of Victor’s new hires,
a man named Miller with a permanent scowl.
"I need to talk to the prisoner,"
I said.
"Mr. Hale said no visitors,
sir,"
Miller replied,
shifting his weight.
"I own this ranch,"
I said,
stepping into his personal space,
letting the power of the Whitmore name settle over him.
"And I own the ground you’re standing on."
"Open the door,
or you’ll be walking back to town in the blizzard."
He hesitated,
then turned the key.
The office was cold,
the windows frosted over.
Emma sat in a wooden chair,
her hands folded in her lap,
her blue uniform still damp.
She looked up when I entered,
her eyes searching mine for a sign of what was to come.
"Did you find a doctor?"
she asked immediately.
Not 'Am I free?' or 'Why am I here?'
Her first thought was still my daughters.
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it.
"Sophie is stable,"
I said.
"The rattling in her chest is fading."
Emma let out a long,
shuddering breath,
her shoulders slumping.
"Thank God,"
she whispered.
"I'm sorry about the pendant,
Daniel. I didn't steal it. I thought it belonged to the girls."
"I know you didn't steal it,
Emma,"
I said,
my voice softening.
"I saw the tapes."
She froze.
"The tapes?"
"The hidden ones,"
I clarified.
"I know what Victor did. And I know you saved their lives."
She looked at me,
hope flickering in her eyes like a dying candle.
"Then why am I still in here?"
"Because,"
I said,
crouching down in front of her.
May you like
"Victor thinks he’s won. And we need to keep it that way for a few more hours."
"I need your help to burn his world down."
