Chapter 26 - The Final Diagnosis
The muzzle of the revolver gleamed dully under the harsh fluorescent light of the laboratory. Dr. Evelyn Ross stood framed in the doorway, her knuckles white around the grip, her chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through her veins.
Arthur Vance started to move his hand toward his tactical holster, but Dr. Ross snapped the barrel toward him instantly.
"Don't even think about it, Mr. Vance," she sneered, her voice dropping into a desperate, erratic register. "One twitch and I put a bullet through her heart. You think you're so clever, don't you, Evelyn? Walking in here like some corporate avenger. You have no idea what it takes to keep an empire afloat."
"An empire?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm, stepping forward half a step despite Arthur's warning hand. "You call trading human lives and manipulating medical trials an empire, Evelyn? You took an oath to protect patients, and instead you sold my child as collateral for Julian's corporate experiments."
Dr. Ross let out a manic, humorless laugh. "Your child was a genetic anomaly from day one, Evelyn! The clinical trial was approved by the board—approved by Julian himself. I just executed the protocol. If your son hadn't succumbed to the neural complications during delivery, the entire sequencing architecture would have been compromised by federal regulators. His death was a necessary statistic."
Hearing her say it—hearing those cold, clinical words strip away the last remaining illusion of human decency—sent a wave of pure, white-hot fury through my veins. Every ounce of grief, every sleepless night, every tear I had shed on the nursery floor crystallized into a razor-sharp focus.
"You didn't just execute a protocol," I said, taking another slow, deliberate step toward her. "You played God with lives you had no right to touch. And now you think a gun is going to save you from the consequences?"
"Shut up!" Dr. Ross screamed, her finger tightening against the trigger. "Shut up, or I swear to God—"
Before she could finish the sentence, Arthur Vance moved with explosive, lightning-fast speed. He didn't draw his weapon; instead, he hurled a heavy steel medical clipboard straight across the room, catching Dr. Ross squarely on the wrist.
CRACK.
The revolver slipped from her shattered grip, clattering loudly against the linoleum floor.
Before she could scream, Arthur closed the distance, tackling her hard against the lab counter and snapping heavy nylon zip-ties around her wrists with a sharp, definitive ziip.
Dr. Ross slumped against the counter, sobbing hysterically as the reality of her defeat finally crashed down upon her.
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I walked over slowly, looking down at the woman who had stolen my son's future. I didn't yell. I didn't strike her. I simply reached down, picked up her passport from the open suitcase on the sofa, and dropped it into my coat pocket.
"Your flight to Geneva has been canceled, Doctor," I said quietly. "You're going to spend the rest of your life sharing a cell with Julian."
