Chapter 4 - Breaking the Lock
The town car screeched to a halt in the driveway of Emily’s suburban townhouse. The house looked peaceful, almost deceptively serene behind its manicured hedges and blooming hydrangeas. No police tape, no flashing lights—just the quiet stillness of a Sunday afternoon.
“Stay in the car, Marcus,” I commanded, my voice trembling with a lethal fury that terrified even my veteran driver. “Lock the doors. Keep Noah safe. If I don't come out in ten minutes, call SWAT.”
I didn't wait for a response. I sprinted up the front steps, grabbed the heavy iron planter beside the door, and flipped it over, retrieving the spare key Emily had hidden there when Noah was a baby. My hands shook so violently it took three tries to guide the key into the lock.
Click.
The door swung open. The cool, artificially conditioned air of the foyer hit my face.
“Emily!” I shouted, racing into the living room.
Silence.
“Emily!”
I checked the kitchen. The coffee maker was cold. On the counter sat a glass teacup, half-filled with a murky, amber liquid—chamomile tea, sitting undisturbed. My stomach plummeted. I remembered Rebecca handing Emily a special organic blend just two nights ago during our family dinner, smiling brightly as she called it a "stress-relief remedy."
I tore down the hallway toward the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar.
“Emily?!”
I shoved the door open. There she lay, sprawled across her king-sized bed in her loungewear, pale as marble, her chest barely moving. On the nightstand sat her phone, its screen dark.
“Oh God, Emmy... Emmy, wake up!” I rushed to her side, falling to my knees and pressing my fingers against her wrist. Her pulse was thready, dangerously slow, fluttering beneath my fingertips like the wing of a dying bird.
She was breathing, but barely. Poison. Rebecca had used a slow-acting sedative or neurotoxin that would mimic a medical emergency or a natural overdose over several hours, ensuring Emily would be completely incapacitated while the wedding took place and the legal asset transfers were finalized.
I reached for her phone, but it was locked with a passcode. Suddenly, my own phone buzzed violently in my pocket.
May you like
It was a text message from an unknown number. I unlocked it. A single photo filled the screen: Noah sitting in the hotel lobby with David, eating a lollipop, captioned with three words: Tick tock, Arthur.
A secondary text followed immediately: You thought you could outsmart me? The wedding guests are waiting. Come back and say "I do" quietly, and maybe your daughter gets her antidote. Refuse, and watch her slip away forever.
