Chapter 4 - The Ticking Clock
Iris flew up the stairs, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She burst into the study, tore open the main desk drawer, and snatched the blue glass vial labeled Emergency Anticonvulsant - Intramuscular. Her hands were shaking violently as she grabbed a sterile syringe from the kit beside it.
She sprinted back down the stairs, sliding onto her knees beside the bench in the foyer.
Nicholas was thrashing, his jaw locked, his eyes rolled back. Iris wiped away her tears, channeling every ounce of her emergency training from her hospice days. She snapped the plastic cover off the needle, lined it up against his thigh, and pressed the auto-injector deep through his trousers.
"Please... please, Nicholas," she sobbed, holding his head gently against her lap. "Stay with me. Don't go."
Seconds stretched into agonized eternities. Slowly, the violent spasms in his muscular frame began to subside. His breathing raggedly evened out, his muscles going limp as the powerful medication flooded his nervous system.
He slowly opened his eyes, his dark pupils unfocused, looking up at her face bathed in morning light.
"Iris..." he rasped, his voice barely a breath.
"I'm here," she wept, pressing her forehead against his, kissing his temple, his cheek, his cold lips. "I'm right here. You're okay."
"I... I scared you," he whispered, feeling terrible for causing her pain.
"Don't worry about me," she scolded gently, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve. "We need to get you to a hospital."
"No," Nicholas said firmly, his fingers feebly catching her hand. "No hospitals. They... they are monitored by Stephen's people. If I check in, Stephen will use the admitting doctors to declare me incompetent immediately. I have to stay here."
"Nicholas, you can't survive another seizure without medical care!" Iris argued, her voice cracking.
"Then bring the doctor here," Nicholas said softly. "Call Dr. Julian Mercer. He... he is my father's old friend. The only doctor in Chicago I can trust. His private number is on my phone."
Iris didn't argue further. She helped Nicholas stand, supporting most of his weight as she guided him back up the stairs and into his bed. Once he was settled and resting, she retrieved his phone and dialed Dr. Mercer.
Thirty minutes later, an elderly man with sharp gray eyes, carrying a leather medical bag, arrived quietly at the back door of the estate.
Dr. Mercer spent an hour inside the master bedroom, conducting exams, adjusting IV fluids, and administering concentrated steroids to reduce brain swelling. Iris stood by the window, her hands clasped tightly, watching every movement with laser focus.
When Dr. Mercer finally stepped out into the hallway, he closed the door softly behind him. He looked at Iris, taking in her exhausted appearance and the fierceness in her eyes.
"You're Iris," Dr. Mercer said, his voice deep and compassionate. "Nicholas spoke about you while I was prepping his IV."
"How is he, Doctor?" Iris asked, skipping pleasantries. "Be honest with me."
Dr. Mercer let out a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The tumor is swelling against his frontal lobe. That’s what triggered the seizure. The standard radiation and chemo have failed. Without an intervention, he has two, maybe three weeks before his body gives out completely."
Iris felt the room spin, but she forced herself to stay upright. "You said 'standard' treatment failed. Is there an non-standard option?"
Dr. Mercer looked at her carefully, evaluating whether she could handle the information. "There is an experimental gene-therapy trial currently being conducted at Switzerland’s Zurich Neurological Institute. It targets the specific genetic marker of his tumor. But..."
"But what?" Iris demanded.
"It hasn't been approved by the FDA here. To get him into the trial, he would need to travel to Zurich immediately. Furthermore, the trial costs twelve million dollars upfront, and the board of Valmont Group would have to clear his medical release. Given Stephen Valmont’s legal blockade..." Dr. Mercer shook his head sadly. "It’s practically impossible."
"Nothing is impossible," Iris said, her tone suddenly hardening into pure, unbreakable steel.
Dr. Mercer looked at her, surprised by the sheer ferocity radiating from the young woman in the simple uniform.
"He signed power of attorney over to me yesterday," Iris said, stepping closer to the doctor. "I control the trust. If twelve million dollars is what it takes to buy him a chance at life, I will move heaven and earth to transfer those funds. But I need you to keep him stable enough to fly."
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Dr. Mercer stared at her for a long moment, then a small, respectful smile touched his weathered face. "If you can clear the legal and financial hurdles, Miss Vance... I will personally fly with him on the air ambulance to Switzerland."
"Then prepare the medical jet," Iris said, turning toward Nicholas’s office. "Because I'm going to war with Stephen Valmont."
