Chapter 5 - The Stolen Sample
The following morning at 8:00 AM, the plan was put into motion.
Claire stood in the laundry room on the second floor, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Down the hall, Margaret carried the silver tray into Noah’s room. Inside the glass was the warm milk, spiked with the crushed Solantrex tablet and the clear, unknown sedative drops.
Claire waited in the hallway, counting the seconds in her head.
One. Two. Three...
Through the crack in the slightly open door, Claire watched the interaction.
Margaret set the tray on the nightstand. "Drink your milk, Noah. Good boy."
Noah picked up the glass. He raised it to his lips, making realistic gulping motions with his throat while Margaret turned her back to smooth out the bedsheets.
With lightning speed and practiced stealth, Noah tilted the glass away from his mouth, pouring half of the milky liquid directly into the open glass vial hidden inside his blanket, then popping the rubber stopper back into the vial. He quickly wiped his lips with his sleeve just as Margaret turned back around.
Margaret picked up the half-empty glass, satisfied. "Good boy. Now rest."
She walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
The moment Margaret’s footsteps faded down the hallway, Claire slipped into the room.
Noah reached beneath his pillow and handed Claire the glass vial, now filled with the cloudy, spiked milk sample.
"Thank you, Noah," Claire whispered, her eyes shining with pride. "You were incredible."
Noah gave her a small, firm nod, his eyes bright and alert. Because he hadn't swallowed the sedative, he was completely clear-headed.
Claire tucked the vial deep into her coat pocket. She needed to get this sample to an independent lab immediately to get a certified chemical toxicology report.
She hurried down to the service entrance, planning to slip out the back gate while the morning delivery trucks were arriving.
As she reached the rear courtyard, a shadow stepped out from behind the security booth.
It was Frank Vance—Vincent’s chief of security.
"Going somewhere, Claire?" Frank asked, his cold, calculating eyes scanning her posture, his large hand resting casually near his holster.
Claire stopped dead in her tracks, forcing a calm smile onto her face. "Good morning, Mr. Vance. I was just taking out the recycling bins for the kitchen staff."
Frank didn't move. He stepped closer, his imposing frame blocking the exit. "The recycling bins are handled by the grounds crew on Tuesdays. Today is Thursday."
Claire’s pulse skyrocketed. She had made a rookie mistake.
"Oh," Claire said, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. "I’m sorry, I’m still getting used to the schedule here. Miss Margaret asked me to check the side gate."
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Frank stared at her for five agonizing seconds. He looked down at her coat pocket, where the subtle outline of the small glass vial rested against her fabric.
"Show me what's in your pocket," Frank commanded, his voice turning into gravel.
