Chapter 12 - The Clinical Deception
The executive suite on the sixteenth floor of the Peninsula was bathed in the warm, muted glow of shaded lamps when Sarah Chen opened the door at 8:30 PM.
Sarah was still in her tailored suit, though her collar was unbuttoned and an encrypted legal tablet sat beside a room-service pot of chamomile tea. In the bedroom beyond, Chloe was sitting propped against a mountain of pillows, wearing an oversized gray cashmere sweater. The jagged edges of her scalp were covered by a soft knit beanie Sarah had bought for her downstairs.
When Chloe saw me walk in, she sat up straighter, clutching the duvet to her chest. Her face was pale, the bruises under her eyes dark as ink, but the wild, manic frenzy that had possessed her on the Highland Manor dance floor had completely receded. In its place was a fragile, hollow clarity.
“Natalie,” she whispered.
I walked across the room and sat on the edge of the mattress. I didn't say anything at first; I simply took her cold, thin hands into mine. Her fingers still trembled with the faint, persistent tremor she had carried for eight years.
“Chloe,” I said gently. “I need to ask you about the Northbrook clinic.”
A faint shudder ran through her shoulders. “Dr. Montgomery’s place?”
“When you got sick in 2016,” I said, keeping my tone steady, professional, yet anchored in warmth. “Before the hair started falling out. Do you remember what Mom gave you?”
Chloe swallowed hard, looking toward the window where rain streaked the dark glass. “I had the flu. At least, that’s what Mom said. A terrible stomach bug that wouldn't go away. I couldn't keep food down, and my feet felt like they were on fire. Mom told me the doctors at the university clinic were incompetent. She said Julian had arranged for a private protocol. An experimental compound to suppress cellular inflammation.”
“How did she administer it?” Ben asked from the doorway, his legal notepad out.
“Small amber glass ampoules,” Chloe said, her voice barely audible. “Mom mixed them into green tea every morning. She watched me drink every drop. When I complained that it tasted metallic—like sucking on a dirty copper penny—she told me I was being ungrateful. She said Julian was risking his medical license to get those formulations through Canadian customs.”
My jaw tightened until my teeth ached. “Did you ever keep any of them, Chloe?”
Chloe blinked. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face.
“Chloe,” I urged softly, squeezing her fingers. “Look at me. Nobody is going to hurt you ever again. Catherine is in a holding cell at 26th and California. Priya is being booked at the First District precinct. But we need to know what they did to you.”
Chloe drew in a ragged breath. “Two months before the wedding... Mom brought a new batch of ampoules to my apartment in Lincoln Park. She said my skin was looking inflamed, that the stress of your engagement was causing a relapse. But something about the way she looked at me... she had this frantic, angry energy. I didn't drink them. I pretended to take the morning dose, but I poured the tea down the disposal.”
“Where are the ampoules now?” Sarah Chen interrupted, stepping into the room.
“In my bathroom vanity,” Chloe said. “Underneath the extra wig stands. In a velvet jewelry pouch. There are three sealed glass vials left.”
I turned to Sarah. “Call Marcus. Get an emergency evidentiary preservation order for Chloe’s apartment. I don't want CPD or local precinct officers touching it; I want an independent chain-of-custody courier accompanied by Marcus’s senior investigator.”
Sarah was already typing into her phone before I finished the sentence.
“What is it, Natalie?” Chloe asked, tears spilling over her lashes. “Was it not alopecia? Am I... did Mom make me sick?”
I reached up and gently touched her cheek, feeling the terrible fragility of a sister who had spent nearly a decade believing her body had betrayed her, when in reality, the betrayal had come from the hand pouring her tea.
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“We’re going to find out, Chloe,” I said. “And if they poisoned you... I’m going to make sure Julian Montgomery spends the rest of his aristocratic life in an orange jumpsuit.”
***
