Chapter 2 - FORTY-SEVEN HOURSBy midnight, Clara understood three things about the Mercer estate.
First, everyone carried weapons except the children.
Second, everyone feared Lawson except the children.
Third, Lawson feared the children more than anyone feared him.
Not them.
Losing them.
Jonah woke around one.
His legs hurt.
Clara called Dr. Yates.
Together they adjusted his approved pain-management plan.
No miracle oil.
No secret cure.
Warm compresses.
Repositioning.
Medication under physician direction.
Clara talked him through each step.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping the medicine do its job.”
“Will it stop?”
“Probably not completely.”
Jonah looked frightened.
Clara sat beside him.
“But you won't be alone while it hurts.”
He studied her.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Behind them, Lawson stood in the doorway.
Clara noticed.
“Your turn.”
“For what?”
“Sit.”
Lawson obeyed.
Strangely.
Jonah held out his hand.
Lawson took it.
The boy’s fingers were so thin around his father’s thumb that Lawson looked physically wounded by the sight.
“I’m scared,” Jonah whispered.
Lawson opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Clara waited.
No rescue.
This was his moment.
Finally:
“Me too.”
Jonah looked surprised.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“A lot?”
Lawson swallowed.
“More than I have ever been.”
Jonah shifted closer.
That was all.
No speech.
No promise to defeat death.
Honesty was enough.
Later, Clara entered the small bedroom assigned to her.
Her suitcase sat on the bed.
Prescott stood beside it.
“You lied.”
Clara froze.
“About?”
“How you found the nursing inquiry.”
She looked at him.
“You said the agency file.”
“I said I obtained it.”
“Not how.”
Prescott placed a photocopy on the table.
A research foundation logo.
Mercer Pediatric Hope Initiative.
Clara’s face changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your suitcase.”
“You searched it.”
“Lawson told me to.”
She said nothing.
The document contained her sister’s name.
Mara Vance.
Clinical trial referral.
Eight months before her death.
Prescott lowered his voice.
“Why was your sister connected to a Mercer-funded research program?”
Clara closed her eyes.
There it was.
The part she had not planned to reveal yet.
“Because Lawson funded it.”
“He funds dozens.”
“This one involved a cellular therapy trial.”
“Did your sister receive it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She deteriorated before enrollment.”
Prescott watched.
“And the twins?”
Clara looked toward the east wing.
“I saw their case discussed anonymously through a former colleague.”
“You tracked them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the exclusion criteria may have been interpreted too rigidly.”
Prescott’s expression hardened.
“You came here to practice medicine?”
“No.”
“I came because I know the trial team.”
“And?”
“And I believed if Jonah and Blythe stabilized enough for reassessment, there might still be an option.”
Prescott said nothing.
“You told Lawson they had forty-eight hours.”
“I told him I could change something in forty-eight hours.”
“Their cancer?”
“No.”
“The room.”
“The fear.”
“The way everyone had already buried them.”
Prescott looked at her for a long moment.
Then:
“Tell him.”
“Not yet.”
“That is a mistake.”
“I need to speak to the trial physician first.”
“Lawson does not forgive hidden motives.”
Clara smiled without humor.
“Neither do dying children.”
Her phone was confiscated.
Prescott eventually allowed one monitored call.
Dr. Priya Raman.
Chicago Children’s Research Institute.
Clara explained.
No names at first.
Then Priya interrupted.
“Clara, are you talking about the Mercer twins?”
Clara closed her eyes.
Confidentiality was clearly already compromised somewhere.
“Yes.”
Priya exhaled.
“Their team contacted us three weeks ago.”
“What?”
“We requested repeat immune markers.”
“And?”
“They never sent them.”
Clara became still.
“Why?”
“Dr. Yates said the family chose comfort-only care.”
Clara looked toward the medical suite.
“That is not what Lawson believes.”
Silence.
“Priya.”
“I know.”
“Can you evaluate them?”
“If the family consents.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Clara—”
“Please.”
Priya sighed.
“Send updated labs.”
Clara ended the call.
Prescott stared.
“Yates.”
“Maybe.”
“You think the doctor blocked the referral.”
“I think we verify before accusing.”
Prescott smiled faintly.
“You really don’t belong here.”
“Why?”
“People in this house accuse first.”
“And shoot second?”
“Sometimes the order changes.”
Clara stared.
He almost smiled.
Then a security alarm flashed.
Not full breach.
Perimeter movement.
Prescott touched his radio.
His face changed.
“Crosby’s men.”
Clara looked toward the children.
“How close?”
“Too close.”
Prescott turned to leave.
Then stopped.
“Forty-seven hours, nurse.”
She nodded.
But now the countdown meant something different.
May you like
Because if Dr. Yates had deliberately kept the twins from a reassessment—
someone inside Lawson Mercer’s own house might want his children to remain terminal.
Related Stories
