Chapter 9
"Look, folks," the deputy said, his tone turning firm and official as he stepped between Arthur and the doorway. "I don't know anything about federal bio-hazards or corporate cover-ups. But I do know that you don't have a signed local warrant in your hand, and this woman is standing in her own legally leased residence with a sleeping infant. If you want to pursue a custody dispute or an emergency conservatorship, you take it up with a family court judge on Monday morning during business hours."
Arthur’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. The absolute control he had maintained for decades was fracturing under the weight of a simple municipal patrolman doing his job by the book. "Officer, you are making a catastrophic mistake. You don't understand the liabilities involved here. When the health board steps in tomorrow morning—"
"Then they can come back tomorrow morning with a proper warrant and a medical team," the deputy cut him off, gesturing toward the driveway. "Right now, I’m asking you and Mrs. Sterling to step back off the property and clear the driveway. Otherwise, I’m writing you up for trespassing and harassment."
Margaret let out a strangled cry of outrage, grabbing Arthur’s arm. "Arthur, we can't just leave her here! She’ll destroy the remaining archives! She’ll contact the journalists!"
"Quiet, Margaret," Arthur muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes boring into Clara with a look of pure, unadulterated venom. It was the look of a man who realized his chessboard had been overturned. He turned stiffly on his heel, pulling his weeping wife toward the cruiser. "This isn't over, Clara. You can run from us, but you cannot run from your own blood. The symptoms have already started. You won't last another month without our supervision."
The cruiser's engine roared to life, tires spitting gravel as it backed out of the driveway and sped down the dark rural road, leaving red tail-lights fading into the distance.
Clara stood in the doorway for a long moment, listening to the silence return. Her knees felt weak, and the adrenaline crash left her shaking from head to toe. She stepped back inside, kicked the heavy wooden door shut, and threw the deadbolt.
May you like
Julian emerged from the pantry, running a hand through his gray hair and letting out a long, shaky whistle. "Well," he muttered, shaking his head. "I’ll be damned. You’ve got more steel in your spine than your mother ever did."
"She’s not my mother," Clara said, walking slowly into the kitchen and collapsing into the chair Julian had vacated earlier. She picked up the manila envelope. "She’s a warden. And I need to know everything that’s inside this folder before Monday morning."
