Chapter 4 - Venom at the Gate
Three days passed.
Life inside Sterling Manor settled into a quiet, tentative rhythm. Sarah was relentless about her "duties." Despite my efforts to keep her resting, she spent hours in the estate’s medical wing organizing supplies, reviewing non-existent health charts, and attempting to earn every single dollar of her contract.
Chloe, on the other hand, was slowly regaining the light in her eyes. Her pale cheeks were filling out thanks to Mrs. Gable’s constant supply of home-cooked meals, and her quiet laughter began to echo down the long marble hallways.
On Thursday evening, a heavy winter rain slammed against the high stained-glass windows of the estate.
I was sitting in the formal dining room, watching Chloe meticulously arrange pea pods on her plate into the shape of a smiley face, while Sarah sat across from her, taking small, disciplined bites of her roast beef.
Suddenly, the house intercom on the wall buzzed with a loud, harsh static.
Mrs. Gable walked quickly to the unit, pressing the response button. "Yes?"
"Mrs. Gable," the guard at the front gate reported, his voice tight over the speaker. "We have an individual at the outer gate demanding entry. He’s causing a disturbance, shouting that he knows Sarah Parker is inside."
Sarah’s fork clattered against her porcelain plate. Her face drained of all color, her hands instantly flying across the table to grab Chloe’s small wrists.
"Who is it?" I asked, standing up from my chair.
"He identifies himself as Richard Parker, sir," the guard replied. "He claims he’s here to retrieve his daughter."
Chloe froze, her pea-pod smiley face forgotten. She shrank back into her leather chair, her eyes wide with a sudden, paralyzing terror. "Mommy... don't let him take us. Please don't let him take us."
Sarah stood up so fast her chair nearly toppled backward. "How did he find us?" she whispered, her voice trembling violently. "He abandoned us! He left us to die in the winter!"
"Miller," I commanded, stepping away from the table.
My chief security officer appeared in the archway of the dining room instantly, slipping a leather-wrapped radio into his pocket. "I have four men moving to the gate now, Mr. Sterling."
"I'm coming with you," I said coldly, reaching for my suit jacket.
"Julian, no," Sarah gasped, running around the table to grab my arm. Her grip was tight, desperate, her green eyes wide with panic. "You don't know him. Richard is weak, but when he’s desperate, he’s dangerous. He’ll call the news. He’ll make up lies about you!"
I looked down at her small hand clutching my sleeve. For the first time since I met her, I reached out and covered her hand with mine, feeling the frantic flutter of her pulse beneath her skin.
"Let him try," I murmured softly. "You are under my roof now, Sarah. Nobody takes anything from this house."
I walked out into the pouring rain, accompanied by Miller and two heavy tactical security guards.
At the iron gates, a man was violently beating his fists against the metal bars. He was soaking wet, wearing a threadbare leather jacket, his eyes bloodshot, his face flushed with the bloated look of an active alcoholic.
Richard Parker.
"Open these damn gates!" Richard screamed, staggering against the iron. "I know my wife is in there! You rich bastards can't keep my kid from me! I'll call the police! I'll call the press!"
The gates slid open with a heavy, mechanical hum.
Richard took two arrogant steps forward, expecting to intimidate whoever approached. But he stopped dead when he saw me walking toward him through the rain, flanked by two six-foot-four security operatives in black tactical gear.
I stopped three feet from him. Rain splashed off the brim of my umbrella, but I didn't blink.
"You're standing on private property, Parker," I said, my voice carrying the freezing authority of an executioner. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have my men throw you into the river."
Richard swallowed hard, his bravado instantly wavering under my gaze, but his desperation won out. "Sarah is my wife! Chloe is my legal daughter! You took them off the street to make yourself look like a saint, Sterling! Give me fifty thousand dollars, or I go to the family court tomorrow morning and claim you kidnapped my child!"
A cold, dark smile spread across my face.
"Fifty thousand dollars," I repeated slowly. "Is that what you value your daughter at? The exact amount of your current debt to the illegal bookmakers operating out of the South Side docks?"
Richard’s mouth fell open. His eyes darted wildly toward Miller. "How... how do you know about that?"
I stepped closer to him, lowering my umbrella until I was inches from his wet, panicked face.
"I know everything about you, Richard," I whispered softly. "I know about the mortgage fraud. I know about the joint bank account you drained while your wife was working a twelve-hour shift in the ICU. And I know that if you step within one mile of my gates again, I will personally buy your gambling debt from the mob and have them collect it in person."
Richard stumbled backward, his knees visibly buckling under the weight of my threat.
"She’s nothing to you!" Richard choked out, wiping rain and sweat from his forehead. "She’s just a broken nurse!"
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"She is the head of my medical staff," I growled, stepping into his personal space until he was backed against the concrete pillar of the gate. "And if you ever speak her name again, I will destroy what little is left of your miserable life. Now, get off my land."
Richard turned and ran into the dark, his worn boots splashing wildly through the freezing mud.
