Chapter 3 - The Ghost on the Fourth Floor
The interior of the Mercedes smelled of expensive leather, cedar, and rain. As Andrew climbed into the back seat beside me, his coat was slightly damp, and there was a faint smell of gunsmoke clinging to his shoulders, but he didn't have a single scratch on him. He reached over, gently pulling my hands away from my face, checking me over with hands that were surprisingly steady.
"Are you hurt, Ivy?" he asked, his voice softening just a fraction when he looked at me.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "Are we going to find Mommy now?"
Andrew’s jaw tightened. He pulled the crumpled five-dollar bill out of his pocket—the one I had given him as a contract fee—and smoothed out the edges against his knee. The red ink on the back caught the amber glow of the dashboard lights.
Ashwood Nursing Home. Room 402. Daniel is alive. They are giving him the red drops.
"Yes, Ivy," Andrew said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "We are going to find your mother. And we are going to find my brother."
Viktor shifted the car into drive, and the powerful engine purred as we peeled out of the parking lot, leaving the smoking wreck of the SUV behind.
"Boss," Viktor spoke up from the front seat, checking his rearview mirror. "The man you left alive gave up a name before he passed out. Marcus Thorne. He’s the administrator at Ashwood. He takes his orders directly from the board of directors at Vanguard Pharmaceuticals."
"Vanguard," Andrew repeated, the word tasting like poison on his tongue. "They told me Daniel died of cardiac arrest nine years ago. They even held a closed-casket funeral. They lied."
"They didn't just lie, boss," Viktor said grimly. "They locked him away in the private psychiatric wing on the fourth floor of Ashwood, bleeding his accounts dry and using him for experimental drug trials. Your sister-in-law signed off on it before she vanished overseas."
I listened quietly from the back seat, clutching my stuffed rabbit. I didn't understand all the big words, but I understood one thing: Mommy had found a secret she wasn't supposed to know. She had seen a man named Daniel locked in a room, kept asleep with red drops in his IV bag, and she had tried to save him.
"How many men are stationed at Ashwood right now?" Andrew asked, his fingers tracing the edge of the five-dollar bill.
"At least a dozen private security operatives hired by Thorne," Viktor replied. "They've locked down the perimeter. If we roll in frontally, it'll turn into a warzone."
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"Good," Andrew said coldly, his eyes reflecting the dark, empty streets rushing past us. "I was planning on cleaning house anyway."
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