Chapter 6 - The Unlikely Ally
Claire’s breath hitched. She backed away half a step. "It’s nothing, Mr. Vance. Just my personal medicine—"
"In this house, nobody carries uninspected items past the perimeter security," Frank cut her off, stepping forward with lightning speed and grabbing her wrist. He reached into her pocket with his free hand and pulled out the glass vial filled with the milky liquid.
He held it up to the morning light, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What is this?"
Claire looked around the empty courtyard. She realized in a flash of terrifying clarity that if Frank handed this vial to Margaret or Dr. Bell, everything was over. She would be thrown out, Noah would be trapped forever, and his mind would be destroyed.
She looked Frank dead in the eyes, abandoning all pretense.
"It’s poison, Mr. Vance," Claire said, her voice shaking with intense, raw emotion.
Frank paused, his cold eyes narrowing. "What did you say?"
"That liquid is a sample of Noah’s morning milk," Claire rushed out, speaking fast and low. "Margaret Hale and Dr. Arthur Bell are poisoning Vincent’s son every single morning. They are using ototoxic drugs and sedatives to fake a degenerative hearing disorder so they can take control of the boy's three-hundred-million-dollar trust fund."
Frank’s face hardened into stone. "You're lying. Dr. Bell has been Mr. Callahan’s friend for twenty years."
"Test it!" Claire pleaded, tears spilling over her lashes. "Take it to a private lab! Don't tell Vincent yet—just test it yourself! If I’m lying, fire me, throw me in jail, do whatever you want! But if I’m telling the truth, Vincent’s son is being destroyed right under his nose!"
Frank stared at the trembling young woman before him. He looked at the vial in his hand, then back at her eyes. In his twenty years working in organized crime, Frank Vance had learned how to spot a liar, a schemer, and a rat.
Claire Bennett didn't look like a rat. She looked like a terrified mother fighting for a motherless child.
Frank slowly lowered her wrist. He popped the glass vial into his own inner suit pocket.
"I have a cousin who runs a private toxicology lab in Manhattan," Frank said, his voice flat and unreadable. "It will take four hours to run a full spectrum analysis."
"Thank you," Claire sobbed in relief.
"Don't thank me yet, Claire," Frank warned, his eyes icy cold. "If this sample comes back clean, I will personally throw you and your daughter out of those iron gates before sunset. But if you're telling the truth..."
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Frank’s jaw tightened, a terrifying, lethal glint flashing in his eyes.
"...then God help Arthur Bell."
