Chapter 4 - The Snake in the Mansion
Forty-eight hours later, Adrian Carrow was discharged against medical advice.
The return to the Chestnut Hill mansion was not a triumphant homecoming; it was a military operation. Four armored black SUVs escorted Adrian’s sedan through the iron gates, and armed guards were stationed every twenty feet along the winding, tree-lined driveway.
Mara sat in the back of the lead vehicle beside Adrian. He was wearing a dark tailored suit, though beneath his crisp white shirt, Mara had bound his chest with supportive medical taping to protect his bruised ribs from the intense CPR compressions she had performed.
“You’re breathing too shallowly,” Mara instructed, reaching over to touch his wrist, taking his pulse with practiced precision. “Eighty-two beats per minute. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
Adrian didn't pull his hand away. His skin was warm, his grip strong. “I have a syndicate board meeting at seven o'clock tonight, Mara. Victor called it himself to discuss 'transition management' after my hospital stay.”
“You shouldn't be attending any meetings,” Mara warned. “Your myocardium is still severely irritated. Any sudden spike in adrenaline could trigger a secondary arrhythmia.”
“If I don't walk into that boardroom under my own power tonight, Victor will move against my territory before sunrise,” Adrian said coldly. “I need you beside me.”
Mara met his gaze. “As your nurse?”
“As my shadow,” Adrian said softly. “Victor doesn't know you’ve deduced the digitalis connection. He thinks you just got lucky with the AED. He will underestimate you. That makes you my greatest weapon.”
When they entered the grand foyer of the mansion, the entire domestic staff was lined up near the marble staircase, looking nervous.
Among them stood Victor Carrow—a tall, slick man in his late forties with razor-thin mustache, wearing a double-breasted gray suit and holding a glass of Scotch.
Victor’s face tightened for a fraction of a second when he saw Adrian walk through the doors completely unassisted, but he quickly forced a warm, exuberant smile onto his lips.
“Adrian!” Victor called out, stepping forward with open arms. “My God, cousin! The hospital said you were near death! It’s a miracle from Almighty God!”
Adrian accepted Victor’s embrace with the warmth of a glacier. “It wasn't God, Victor. It was modern medicine... and quick thinking.”
Victor’s eyes flicked over Adrian’s shoulder, landing on Mara, who stood in her plain dark dress, holding a leather medical bag.
“Ah, yes,” Victor said smoothly, his tone laced with subtle condescension. “The miraculous maid. The family owes you a small bonus for your quick actions, young lady. Caleb, see to it that she receives an extra five hundred dollars in her weekly envelope.”
Mara didn't blink. “Keep your five hundred dollars, Mr. Carrow. I prefer my payment in transparency.”
Victor’s smile faltered slightly. “Beg pardon?”
“Mara is no longer a domestic worker, Victor,” Adrian announced loudly, his voice carrying across the entire grand foyer, ensuring every guard and staff member heard every word. “She is my head of medical operations and personal advisor. Her authority in this house is absolute on all matters regarding my health, food, and security.”
A heavy, suffocating silence descended on the foyer.
Victor’s jaw twitched. He looked at Adrian, then at Mara, his dark eyes hardening into two cold slits.
“A maid as a personal advisor?” Victor chuckled, though there was no humor in his voice. “Adrian, old boy, perhaps that stroke affected your judgment more than the doctors admit.”
“I didn't have a stroke, Victor,” Adrian whispered, taking a step closer to his cousin until they were standing chest to chest. “I was poisoned. And the man who supplied the pills is currently sitting in a basement holding cell in South Boston answering Caleb’s questions.”
Victor’s face went completely bloodless. The glass of Scotch in his hand trembled slightly, the ice cubes clinking against the crystal.
“Poisoned?” Victor stammered. “That... that’s absurd! Who would do such a thing?”
“We’ll find out tonight,” Adrian said softly. “At the board meeting.”
Adrian turned and walked toward the grand staircase. “Mara, come with me. I need my evening vitals checked.”
Mara followed him up the stairs, but as she reached the landing, she looked back down into the foyer.
May you like
Victor Carrow was standing near the grand clock, his eyes fixed on Mara’s back with a look of pure, murderous hatred. He slowly pulled his phone from his pocket and typed a rapid message.
Mara’s medical instincts flared into full alert. She pulled out her notebook and wrote: Subject Victor displays high acute stress response: vasoconstriction, micro-tremors, defensive posture. Target confirmed.
