PART 4: Racing Against Time
PART 4: Racing Against Time
Tuxedos sprint through frantic hospital doors.
The heavy oak doors of the cathedral burst open, spilling blinding afternoon sunlight across the stone steps as I rushed out into the courtyard, still wearing my custom black tuxedo.
Passersby stopped and stared, bewildered by the grown man sprinting down the sidewalk with a little girl in his arms.
I spotted my black Aston Martin parked illegally in the fire lane by the church entrance.
I yanked the passenger door open, buckled Lily safely into the front seat, and vaulted into the driver's seat.
"Hold on tight, Lily," I told her, my hands shaking as I slammed the gear shift into drive. "We're going to find your mommy."
The engine roared to life, and the sports car surged forward, weaving aggressively through downtown traffic.
My mind raced through the details Clara’s note had implied.
They are trying to steal our daughter.
If Clara had managed to escape or hide Lily long enough to send her to find me, the people who orchestrated this thirty-year conspiracy—my father’s private security enforcers and the corrupt sanitarium directors—would be hunting her down right now.
Where would Clara go when she was cornered?
St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital.
The old county facility downtown where she used to volunteer before the hospital board had her institutionalized a decade ago.
It was the only place she knew she could find a safe, sympathetic doctor who wasn't on my father’s payroll.
"Daddy, is mommy going to be okay?" Lily asked softly from the passenger seat, clutching my spare handkerchief in her small hands.
"She's going to be fine, baby," I lied, my throat tightening as I pressed the accelerator harder, the speedometer climbing past eighty. "Daddy's coming. Nobody is ever going to hurt you two again."
Ten minutes later, the screech of tires echoed off the concrete pillars of St. Jude's emergency ambulance bay.
I didn't wait to park properly.
I killed the engine, unbuckled Lily, hoisted her back into my arms, and charged through the automatic glass sliding doors of the emergency ward.
"Sir! Sir, you can't bring a child back here—!" a triage nurse shouted, standing up from her desk.
"Where is Clara Sterling? Or Clara Vance?" I demanded, slamming my palm down on the counter, my face dark with desperation. "She was brought in thirty minutes ago! Where is her room?!"
The nurse took one look at my wild eyes, my tuxedo, and the trembling little girl in my arms, and her professional demeanor instantly shifted to alarm.
She tapped frantically on her computer terminal.
"Fourth floor, room 412," the nurse said quickly. "Restricted wing. Security was just dispatched there—"
May you like
I didn't wait to hear the rest.
I spun around, bolted past the elevators, and tore open the stairwell door, taking the steps three at a time upward toward the fourth floor.
