The waiting room at Northwestern Memorial was silent save for the rhythmic hum of the ceiling vents and the heavy, slow tread of Julian DeLuca’s polished shoes against the linoleum floor.

Two hours had passed since Cassandra Vale was rushed through the emergency room doors. Julian stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass panel looking down at the dark, glistening span of Lake Michigan. He hadn't removed his velvet tuxedo jacket, nor had he loosened his tie. His hands were clasped behind his back, his fingers locked tightly together.

The heavy double doors swung open, and Dr. Evelyn Vance walked in, removing her surgical mask. Her expression was grave, her eyes tired.

"She's stabilized, Julian," Dr. Vance said quietly. "We pumped her stomach and administered broad-spectrum antitoxins. It was a digitalis derivative—concentrated foxglove extract. Highly lethal, fast-acting. If she had taken a full swallow, her heart would have stopped before the ambulance left your driveway."

Julian’s eyes darkened into slate gray. "Did she swallow it?"

"She barely touched it to her lips," Dr. Vance replied. "She took less than a quarter of a sip. That’s the only reason she’s alive right now. But Julian... this wasn't an accident. That level of concentration was meant to kill a grown man within sixty seconds."

Julian turned back to the window, his mind tracing the sequence of events at the estate. A grown man within sixty seconds.

The glass hadn't been poured for Cassandra.

Cassandra had casually reached out and grabbed the flute on the left side of the tray—the glass originally set down in front of Julian. The poison had been meant for him.

His encrypted phone vibrated against his hip. Julian pulled it out and answered. "Talk to me, Vance."

"Boss, we locked down the mansion the second the ambulance left," his head of security reported from the other end. "Nobody left the property. My team interviewed the kitchen staff, the catering team, and the waitstaff. But we have a problem."

"What problem?"

"Thomas Bell," Vance said, his voice dropping. "The head butler. His car was found abandoned three miles down Lake Shore Drive. The security feeds show him walking out through the service gate forty-five seconds after Miss Vale collapsed. He slipped into the dark before my perimeter team even realized the glass was poisoned."

Julian felt a strange, cold numbness settle over his collarbone. Thomas had been with his family for over three decades. He was the man who had tucked Julian into bed after his mother died, the man who held the keys to every vault and safehouse the DeLuca family owned.

"Find him," Julian said softly. "I want him brought to the estate. Alive."

"There's one more thing, Julian," Vance added cautiously. "The maid—Nora Bennett. When we began the lockdown, she didn't try to flee, but my men found something in her personal quarters in the staff wing. A locked iron box hidden inside her mattress. We forced it open."

"What was inside?"

"Photographs, Julian," Vance whispered. "Dozen of photos of Claire Arden. And a birth certificate for her daughter, Lily. The father's name line isn't blank."