Chapter 4
The interior of the house was suffocatingly dark, illuminated only by the faint, sickly glow of the emergency exit signs flickering down the long, wood-paneled hallway. Dr. Harrison pushed the wheelchair with reckless speed, the metal wheels scraping loudly against the polished mahogany floorboards until they reached the heavy double doors of the master study at the end of the hall. He kicked the left door open with his foot, wheeling Clara inside with enough force that she had to brace her hands against the armrests to keep from sliding out of the seat. The room was a disaster zone; books were strewn across the Persian rug, desk drawers had been pulled out and dumped upside down, and the heavy desktop computer lay shattered on the floor with its circuit boards exposed like torn flesh.
"Look at this mess your brother made," Dr. Harrison hissed, slamming the double doors shut and locking the heavy brass deadbolt with a resounding click that echoed like a gunshot.
"He thinks he's a hero. He thinks he can steal my life's work and walk away scot-free."
Clara sat quietly in the center of the chaotic room, her eyes scanning the bookshelves for the hidden wall safe where her father used to keep the spare house keys and the emergency communication radio.
"Leo only wanted the truth to come out," Clara said evenly, keeping her tone neutral to mask the rapid calculations running through her mind.
"You can't hide what happened that night forever, Dr. Harrison. The neighbors heard the shouting, and the hospital records don't just disappear because you burn a few files."
Dr. Harrison walked over to the mahogany wet bar in the corner, pouring himself a finger of amber amber liquor into a heavy crystal glass before turning back to face her with a dark chuckle.
"Hospital records are amended every single day, my dear Clara, especially when the chief of surgery is a close personal friend of mine," he said, taking a slow sip of the drink.
"As for your brother, he isn't going to be talking to anyone anytime soon. He's currently enjoying a very long, very quiet nap in the root cellar."
Clara's blood turned to ice in her veins, but she forced her expression to remain completely blank, remembering Leo's warning about the doctor's psychological games.
"You're lying," she whispered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her desperate hope that her brother was still alive somewhere in the sprawling basement complex.
"Leo knows every inch of this house better than you do."
"He did know every inch," Dr. Harrison corrected, stepping closer and crouching down so his face was level with hers, smelling strongly of scotch and stale tobacco.
"Until I changed the combination to the cellar door ten minutes ago. Now, unless you hand over whatever it is he gave you out on the lawn, that door stays locked permanently."
Clara stared into his bloodshot eyes, her hand sliding imperceptibly toward her jacket pocket where the silver thumb drive rested against her palm.
"I don't have anything," she lied smoothly, tilting her head with innocent defiance.
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"He just gave me a piece of paper telling me to be brave."
Dr. Harrison's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as he reached out and grabbed her by the collar of her yellow dress, hoisting her slightly out of the wheelchair with terrifying strength.
