Chapter 8 - The Nursery Trap
Mark sped through the drenched city streets, leaving Beatrice to handle the federal authorities. He tore through the wrought-iron gates of the Sterling mansion, tires skidding on wet gravel, and bolted up the grand staircase.
The mansion was eerily quiet, abandoned by staff who had fled the scandal. Mark reached the second floor and kicked open the double doors of the newly decorated nursery. The pastel-painted room smelled of fresh paint and sweet lavender, yet cold air poured from an open window.
In the center of the room sat the antique wooden crib, handed down through five generations of the Sterling family. Inside, nestled beneath a white cashmere blanket, was a digital timing mechanism wired to the baseboards.
A digital readout glowed green: 00:14:22.
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Mark froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He approached cautiously, noticing a thin wire taped directly to the crib's underside, running into the heating vent. Beside it lay a handwritten note written in Erica’s flamboyant cursive: If I can’t have the estate, no Sterling child will ever sleep under this roof.
Suddenly, his radio receiver crackled from his pocket. It was Elena, her voice shaking through tears from her hospital bed: “Mark... don’t touch anything. The police found Erica’s accomplice... he said the trigger isn't on a timer. It’s synced to my heartbeat.”
