Chapter 4
The headlights of Sterling's luxury sedan cut erratic swaths through the dense fog as the vehicle careened back toward the wrought-iron gates of Oakridge Cemetery. The heavy iron gates were unlocked, left ajar by the maintenance crew who had hastily packed up their gear before the worst of the storm hit. Richard drove the car directly onto the grass, stopping mere yards from the fresh mound of earth where the white roses lay beaten and bruised by the relentless rain.
As Richard and Eleanor stepped out into the mud, a figure emerged from behind a towering stone mausoleum. It was Leo. He had walked three miles through the storm, his sneakers ruined, his face pale and gaunt. He held a rusted iron garden shovel he had scavenged from a nearby toolshed.
Eleanor gasped, taking a step back in fright, but Richard raised a hand to stop her. He stared at the boy, noting the raw determination burning in the young man's eyes.
"You're back," Richard said, his voice dangerously low as he approached Leo. "Explain yourself, boy. Right now. Why are you risking everything for this?"
Leo lowered the shovel, resting his weight against the wooden handle. He didn't flinch under the intimidating glare of the wealthy CEO. "Because I loved her, Mr. Sterling. And unlike you, I actually listened to what she was researching. Clara found a way to stop cellular decay without freezing tissue. She tested it on herself to prove her thesis before the university board rejected her grant. She told me the dosage would wear off in exactly twenty-four hours. We have less than four hours left before that window closes forever."
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Richard stared at him, weighing every word. The technical precision of Leo's explanation matched the medical journal article he had read earlier that evening. The realization hit him like a physical blow. He turned toward the fresh grave, his chest heaving with panic.
Without another word, Richard strode over to the mound, grabbed a second shovel from the back of his sedan, and plunged the metal blade deep into the mud. He began to dig with furious, desperate energy. Eleanor rushed forward, grabbing a garden trowel to help, her manicured hands instantly staining black with wet earth.
