Chapter 6 – THE BROCHURE IN THE FOYER
The grand foyer felt suddenly suffocating.
“She checked her into the facility,” Nathan whispered, staring at the shaky 412 written in his mother’s trembling hand.
The terrifying genius of Victoria’s plan was laid bare. If Victoria had simply kidnapped Margaret, the Sullivan syndicate would have torn Chicago apart looking for a hostage.
But by legally checking an elderly woman with documented “memory issues” into a high-security, lockdown dementia facility, Victoria hadn’t just hidden Margaret; she had imprisoned her in plain sight, protected by HIPAA laws, armed security guards, and impenetrable red tape.
“If she’s admitted as a patient under Victoria’s medical power of attorney,” Marco grunted, looking over Nathan’s shoulder at the brochure, “we can’t just kick the doors down, boss. That facility caters to billionaires and politicians. They have private security firms guarding the perimeter. If we go in guns blazing, the police will be there in three minutes, and we’ll trigger a federal investigation into the family.”
“I don’t care about the feds, Marco,” Nathan growled, his eyes burning with a dark, violent desperation. “I care about my mother.”
“But Victoria is already inside,” I pointed out, my heart hammering against my ribs. “If you breach the building, the security alarms will go off. Victoria will know you’re coming. She’ll force Margaret to sign the deed transfer and kill her before you even reach the fourth floor.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened into iron. He knew I was right. A frontal assault was suicide for his mother.
“We need to get inside quietly,” Nathan said, his mind working with lethal speed. “We need a Trojan horse.”
He looked at the brochure again. The facility prided itself on luxury and absolute discretion.
Nathan slowly looked up from the brochure. He didn’t look at Marco. He looked at me.
“Rachel,” Nathan said softly, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “You said Victoria hired you through the Crestwood Staffing Agency, right?”
“Yes,” I nodded, confused by the sudden change in subject.
“Did they give you a uniform?”
“Just a standard black dress and a white apron. It’s what all the agency girls wear.”
Nathan’s dark eyes gleamed with a dangerous, brilliant light.
“That facility utilizes agency staffing for their high-end catering and room service,” Nathan deduced smoothly. “I know because the Sullivan syndicate owns the holding company that supplies their food.”
He stepped closer to me, his massive presence overwhelming but strangely comforting.
“I need you to put your uniform back on, Rachel,” Nathan commanded gently, but with absolute authority. “I need you to walk through the front doors of that facility with a catering tray. They won’t look twice at a maid they think is agency staff.”
I swallowed hard, the reality of what he was asking settling over me.
He was asking me to walk alone into a locked fortress, past armed guards, to find the woman who was trying to kill his mother.
“I’ll get the uniform,” I said without hesitation.
Ten minutes later, I was standing in the back of a discreet, unmarked delivery van, wearing my black dress and white apron.
Nathan stood in front of me, adjusting a small, highly sensitive earpiece hidden beneath my hair. He wore a dark tactical vest under his suit jacket, his heavy semi-automatic holstered at his hip.
“Can you hear me?” Nathan’s voice crackled softly in my ear, even though he was standing right in front of me.
“Loud and clear,” I whispered back.
He reached out and gently rested his hands on my shoulders. His touch was warm, grounding me in the terrifying moment.
“Listen to me very carefully, Rachel,” Nathan said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with fierce, unyielding intensity. “Your only job is to locate Room 412, verify my mother is inside, and unlock the service stairwell door at the end of the hall. Marco and I will be waiting in the stairwell. We will handle Victoria. Do you understand?”
“Find the room. Unlock the stairs. Don’t engage,” I repeated, my voice shaking slightly.
“If anything goes wrong, if you are stopped, you drop the tray and you run toward the stairs,” Nathan promised, his voice thick with emotion. “I will tear the building down to get to you. I will not lose you.”
Tears pricked my eyes. He wasn’t just protecting his mother; he was protecting me.
“I won’t let you down,” I whispered.
He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. It was a gesture of profound trust and affection, a silent vow between a mafia boss and a maid.
“Let’s go,” Nathan ordered, stepping back.
The van pulled up to the rear delivery entrance of the Serenity Pines facility. It looked less like a hospital and more like a five-star resort, surrounded by high stone walls and manicured gardens.
I stepped out of the van, holding a covered silver room-service tray that Marco had procured. My heart was hammering so loudly I was terrified the guards would hear it.
I walked up to the heavy glass doors of the service entrance.
A burly security guard in a sharp suit stopped me, holding up a hand.
“ID and purpose of visit,” the guard boredly demanded, not even looking up from his clipboard.
“Rachel Dawson, Crestwood Agency,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I have a specialized dietary tray for a new admission on the fourth floor. Room 412.”
The guard checked his clipboard, his finger tracing down the list of approved agency staff.
“Dawson, Rachel,” he muttered. “Alright, you’re cleared. Take the service elevator to the fourth floor. Do not deviate from the route.”
“Yes, sir,” I nodded, walking past him.
The doors hissed shut behind me. I was in.
I walked down the sterile, brightly lit hallway to the service elevator. I pressed the button for the fourth floor. The elevator hummed quietly as it ascended.
“I’m in the elevator,” I whispered into my collar.
“We are in position in the stairwell,” Nathan’s voice crackled reassuringly in my ear. “Stay calm, Rachel. You’re doing perfectly.”
The elevator dinged softly. The doors slid open.
The fourth floor was eerily quiet. Thick, plush carpet muffled my footsteps. The walls were painted a calming, pale blue, lined with expensive artwork.
I walked down the long corridor, my eyes darting between the polished wooden doors.
I stopped outside the heavy door. My heart was racing.
“I’m at the door,” I whispered.
“Check the stairwell,” Nathan ordered.
I walked ten feet down the hall to the heavy metal fire door marked Stairs. I pushed the crash bar.
It was locked. A heavy magnetic seal held it shut.
“It’s magnetically locked from the outside,” I hissed in panic. “I can’t open it!”
“Damn it,” Marco’s voice cursed through the earpiece. “They upgraded the security protocols. Boss, I need five minutes to hack the bypass panel down here.”
“We don’t have five minutes,” Nathan growled. “Rachel, you have to get Victoria to open that door. We can’t breach it without triggering the lockdown.”
Before I could panic, a voice echoed from inside Room 412.
“Sign the paper, Margaret, or I swear to God I will break your other hand.”
It was Victoria. And she sounded unhinged.
I didn’t think. I acted on pure, desperate adrenaline.
I walked back to Room 412, balanced the silver tray on one hand, and knocked sharply on the heavy wooden door.
The voices inside instantly fell silent.
“Who is it?” Victoria snapped through the thick wood, her voice laced with paranoia.
“Room service for Mrs. Sullivan, ma’am,” I said, projecting my best, bored agency voice. “Dietary requested I bring up her specialized evening tray.”
There was a long pause.
Then, the heavy deadbolt clicked.
The door cracked open just an inch.
Victoria peered out through the gap. Her hair was a mess, her eyes wild and bloodshot.
She looked at my uniform. She looked at the silver tray.
And then, she looked at my face.
Victoria froze. Her eyes widened in absolute, terrifying recognition.
“You,” Victoria breathed, stepping back in shock.
I didn’t wait for her to slam the door.
I shoved the heavy silver tray directly into her face with all my strength.
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