Chapter 4 - Poison in the Glass
At precisely 2:00 PM, Dr. Julian Thorne arrived at the Corbin estate.
He was a tall, silver-haired man in his late fifties, dressed in a impeccably tailored coat, carrying a sleek black leather medical bag. He radiated the kind of smooth, arrogant authority that wealthy families bought when they wanted a physician who would ask no questions and write whatever prescriptions were requested.
I stood by the window in Garrett’s room as Dr. Thorne set his bag on the mobile tray table. Garrett sat in his chair, his head bowed, playing the role of the lifeless invalid to perfection.
"Good afternoon, Garrett," Dr. Thorne said in a patronizingly loud voice, patting Garrett’s limp shoulder as if he were a dog. "Time for our weekly neural boost. We're going to get those nerves firing again, aren't we?"
Garrett let out a soft, senseless murmur, staring blankly at the rug.
"Nurse Miller, isn't it?" Dr. Thorne turned to me, offering a polished, professional smile. "I believe Douglas mentioned you took over the shift."
"Yes, Dr. Thorne," I said, stepping forward with a crisp, dutiful smile. "I have Mr. Corbin’s vitals recorded in the log binder. Blood pressure is 110 over 70, pulse rate 68. Stable."
"Excellent," Thorne said, opening his leather bag and pulling out a small, amber glass vial with a silver seal, alongside a sterile 20ml syringe. "I will prepare the IV push now. I need you to hold his arm steady during the administration. He sometimes twitches involuntarily."
I watched with hawkish precision as Dr. Thorne drew 15 milliliters of a cloudy, milky-white liquid from the amber vial into the syringe. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my hands remained absolute steel.
"Dr. Thorne," I said suddenly, pointing toward the bedside table. "Forgive me, but Mrs. Corbin asked me to give you this file regarding Mr. Corbin's nutritional supplement chart from last week. She said it was urgent."
Thorne paused, turning his head toward the bedside table three feet away. "What file?"
In that split second of distraction—a three-second window I had practiced in my mind fifty times—I reached into my scrub pocket, pulled out a identical pre-filled 20ml syringe filled with clear, sterile saline solution, and swapped it with the syringe sitting on Thorne's tray. Simultaneously, I slipped the syringe containing the milky-white poison deep into the insulated lining of my pocket.
Thorne turned back, frowning as he looked at the empty bedside table. "There is no file here, Nurse."
"Oh, my apologies!" I said, clapping my hand to my forehead with an embarrassed smile. "I must have left it on the kitchen counter when I was preparing his tea. I will retrieve it right after we finish."
Thorne grunted in irritation, picking up the syringe—now filled with harmless saline—and attaching it to Garrett’s IV butterfly needle. "Pay closer attention next time, Rebecca. Precision is everything in high-level neuro-recovery."
"Of course, Doctor. Forgive me."
I held Garrett’s arm steady as Thorne slowly depressed the plunger, injecting twenty milliliters of salt water straight into Garrett’s vein. Garrett played his part brilliantly, letting his eyelids flutter and rolling his head back as if falling into a deep, drug-induced stupor.
"There we go," Thorne murmured, withdrawing the needle and tossing the empty plastic syringe into his biohazard bag. "He will be out for the next six to eight hours. Do not attempt to move him or perform any physical therapy while he is under the influence of the serum. It requires total neural rest."
"I understand completely, Dr. Thorne," I said, bowing my head respectfully.
Once Thorne had packed his bag, given me a few more condescending instructions, and left the room under Douglas's escort, I locked the door behind him.
The moment the lock clicked, Garrett opened his eyes, sat bolt upright, and pulled the IV tape off his arm.
"Did you get it?" Garrett asked, his voice sharp and alert.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the syringe filled with the cloudy, milky-white liquid, setting it gently onto the glass tray.
"Fifteen milliliters of whatever they've been using to keep you crippled," I said, pulling a sterile rubber cap over the tip to seal it. "I have a contact from my home-care network—a senior toxicologist at Emory University Hospital named Dr. Aris Thorne (no relation to your corrupt doctor, thank goodness). I can have this in his hands by six o'clock tonight."
"Good," Garrett said, his dark eyes flashing with lethal satisfaction. "Because we just got another piece of the puzzle. Look at this."
Garrett reached into his cushion and pulled out a small, encrypted flash drive.
"While you were handling your ex-husband in the library, I used the secondary network port behind my bed to access ApexBio's internal server," Garrett explained, plugging the drive into a modified laptop sitting under his bed. "Douglas thought he wiped my administrative access, but he forgot I built the company's cybersecurity architecture from scratch. Look at these wire transfers."
I leaned over Garrett’s shoulder, scanning the glowing screen.
Columns of figures appeared, detailing monthly transfers of $250,000 from ApexBio’s primary operating account into an offshore entity called 'Vance & Miller Holdings'—registered jointly under the names of Christopher Miller and Brenda Vance.
"They aren't just stealing inventory," I gasped, pointing at the dates. "They've been siphoning operational capital for six months! Christopher used these funds to buy out the lease on our San Diego house and transfer the deed entirely into his mother Florence's name!"
A dark, dangerous coldness settled over my heart. Christopher hadn't just cheated on me; he and his mother had systematically stripped away every asset I had helped build over twelve years, planning to leave me with absolute nothing while they built a new life on stolen millions.
"They're planning to liquidate the remaining assets of ApexBio next Friday," Garrett revealed, scrolling down to a set of board meeting minutes. "Douglas has scheduled an emergency shareholder vote to sell ApexBio to a foreign investment group for pennies on the dollar. Once the sale goes through, Douglas gets a fifty-million-dollar buyout, Christopher and Brenda get their offshore fortunes, and ApexBio goes bankrupt—leaving me holding the liability for a ruined company while trapped in this chair."
"Next Friday..." I murmured. "That gives us five days."
"Five days," Garrett agreed, turning his head to look up at me. He reached out and took my hand, his palm warm and steady against mine. "Five days for me to regain enough strength in my legs to walk into that boardroom on my own two feet, Rebecca. Can you get me ready?"
May you like
I looked at the toxic serum on the tray, then looked down at Garrett—a man who had survived a murder attempt, stood up against his own family, and trusted me with his life.
"Garrett," I said, my voice ringing with absolute certainty. "In five days, you aren't just going to walk into that boardroom. You're going to march in like a storm."
