Chapter 3: The Weight of the Teal Suit
As Julian sprinted toward the bank of elevators, Evelyn struggled to keep pace, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm against the polished terrazzo floor. Dr. Vance remained behind for a fraction of a second, tapping a coded sequence into his clipboard before briskly following them. The digital display above the elevator shaft glowed with a mocking red number: 4.
“Julian, wait!” Evelyn called out, her voice echoing in the sterile hallway. When Julian reached the doors, he slammed his fist against the stainless steel call button. His breath came in ragged gasps, his white shirt sticking slightly to the hollow of his back.
“She’s leaving, Mom,” Julian said, his eyes locked on the descending floor numbers. “She’s running straight to the old loft downtown.”
“That’s impossible,” Dr. Vance said, catching up and adjusting his tie with practiced composure. “The police have secured the loft since the investigation began. The forensics team is still processing the site. Clara wouldn't go anywhere near a crime scene.”
Julian whirred around, his patience entirely exhausted. “You don't know what Clara would do when her back is against the wall. You read her files, Doctor. You memorized her psychological profile. But you never actually looked her in the eyes and realized she was always ten steps ahead of your entire pharmaceutical board.”
Evelyn stepped between them, her face lined with genuine distress. She adjusted the lapel of her teal suit jacket, smoothing down fabric that didn't need smoothing. “Julian, calm down. If Clara is heading to the loft, we need to get to your car before she makes herself vulnerable. But Vance is right about one thing: the police have it cordoned off. If she’s caught there, she’ll be thrown back into custody or a psychiatric hold, and we’ll never find out the truth about what happened on the bridge.”
The elevator bell chimed softly, and the doors slid open to reveal an empty car smelling faintly of lemon cleaner. Julian stepped inside immediately, punching the button for the underground parking garage. Vance lingered outside the threshold for a heartbeat, his stern gaze lingering on Julian before he stepped in, pressing himself against the back wall.
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“I only want what’s best for the hospital’s reputation, and by extension, your family’s legacy,” Vance said quietly as the doors closed, sealing them in the descending metal box.
“Legacy,” Julian muttered, staring at his own reflection in the brushed steel wall. The scratch on his face looked uglier in the harsh overhead light. “You care about patents, Vance. Not legacies.”
