Chapter 4 - TEN DAYS BECAME FORTY-EIGHT HOURS
Jonah stabilized at 2:17 in the morning.
I know because I watched every second change on the clock above his bed.
Blythe slept curled against my side in a chair someone had pulled between their beds.
Jonah remained unconscious.
His fingers were warm again.
That was enough for me to keep breathing.
The independent oncology team took over before midnight.
Dr. Camille Avery from Lurie Children’s became lead physician.
She was forty-five, blunt, and apparently unimpressed by armed men.
When Prescott tried to station two guards inside the treatment room, she pointed toward the hallway.
“They can protect the door.”
Prescott looked at me.
I nodded.
He left.
Camille turned toward me.
“If you interfere with medical decisions because you’re angry, I will remove you too.”
I stared.
Nobody spoke to me like that except Genevieve.
“I understand.”
“Good.”
She looked almost disappointed that I did not argue.
Samples of every medication were collected.
Jonah and Blythe underwent new blood studies.
Marrow records were copied.
Franklin’s access was revoked.
By sunrise, Camille had preliminary answers.
She found me in the family waiting room.
Mara sat asleep in a chair near the wall.
Still wearing the same gray coat.
She had refused a guest room.
Said she would leave once the twins were safe.
I had not told her she was no longer permitted to leave.
Not yet.
Camille placed a folder on the table.
“The good news first.”
I hated that phrase.
But I listened.
“Their leukemia is responding better than you were told.”
My chest tightened.
“How much better?”
“Enough that I do not consider them terminal today.”
The world stopped.
I stared.
“Say that again.”
Camille’s expression softened slightly.
“I would not tell you they have ten days.”
My knees almost failed.
I sat.
“Then Franklin lied.”
“He interpreted the marrow failure as irreversible.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
Mara opened her eyes.
She had heard.
Camille looked at her.
“You were right about the suppression pattern.”
Mara sat straighter.
“What did toxicology show?”
“An unapproved compound in both children.”
I closed my eyes.
Confirmed.
Camille continued.
“It appears designed to suppress marrow recovery.”
“Can you reverse it?”
“Not instantly.”
“How long?”
“We don’t know.”
“Ten days?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Camille hesitated.
“Forty-eight hours matter.”
My hope dropped.
“Why?”
“They are profoundly immunocompromised. Jonah’s cardiac event added stress. Blythe has early signs of infection.”
“How bad?”
“Manageable if her immune system begins recovering.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Camille said nothing.
I looked at Mara.
She understood.
So did I.
The prognosis had changed.
Not safe.
Not cured.
But not predetermined.
“What treatment?”
Camille explained carefully.
They needed to eliminate the interfering compound.
Support organ function.
Treat infection.
Then reassess marrow response.
If recovery began, the twins could potentially proceed to a modern cell-based therapy their previous team had never referred them for.
“Why weren’t they referred?”
Camille’s mouth tightened.
“I would like Dr. Yates to answer that.”
I stood.
This time Mara did not stop me.
Franklin sat inside the east guest room.
Two guards outside.
Prescott joined me.
Mara followed.
I opened the door.
Franklin stood by the window.
He looked at us.
Then at Mara.
“So the execution begins.”
“Dramatic.”
He smiled bitterly.
“You’ve always preferred direct violence.”
I stepped inside.
“Why didn’t you refer the twins for cell therapy?”
His face remained calm.
“They were not candidates.”
“Camille Avery disagrees.”
“She has the luxury of criticizing after inheriting the case.”
“Why was an experimental compound in their infusions?”
Franklin said nothing.
Prescott closed the door.
I kept my voice low.
“Here’s what happens next.”
Franklin’s eyes met mine.
“You tell me who ordered it.”
He laughed.
“And if I don’t?”
“I turn you over to federal investigators.”
That surprised him.
He expected basement.
Not law.
Maybe Genevieve was still changing me.
“I thought you didn’t involve police.”
“I involve whoever helps my children.”
Franklin looked at Mara.
“She doesn’t know what she’s started.”
Mara’s face hardened.
“I know you killed patients.”
“I did not.”
“Two children died.”
“They were dying already.”
The words landed badly.
Franklin realized too late.
Prescott stepped toward him.
I raised a hand.
“No.”
Franklin stared.
I continued.
“Who paid you?”
“No one.”
“Roman?”
A flicker.
Tiny.
Enough.
Mara saw it.
Prescott did too.
Franklin recovered.
“You’re paranoid.”
“Probably.”
I moved closer.
“But Genevieve was too.”
His face changed.
That was bigger.
“You knew she investigated you.”
Silence.
I pulled out the wedding ring.
Franklin stared.
The color left his face.
“Where did you get that?”
“Not from her coffin.”
He sat slowly.
For the first time, Franklin Yates looked old.
“What did she tell you?”
I almost smiled.
Wrong question.
He was afraid of what Genevieve had known.
Not surprised that she knew anything.
“You tell me.”
Franklin looked toward the door.
Then whispered, “Roman will kill me.”
There.
Prescott inhaled.
Mara closed her eyes.
I remained still.
“Then Roman is involved.”
Franklin laughed weakly.
“Involved?”
He looked at me.
“Lawson, your uncle designed the whole thing.”
My hands curled.
“What thing?”
Franklin looked upstairs.
“Your inheritance.”
I stepped closer.
“My children.”
“Yes.”
“What did Roman want?”
“The twins’ shares.”
“Why?”
“He borrowed against the reversion.”
“Genevieve discovered that.”
Franklin looked shocked.
“So Mara told you.”
“Continue.”
Roman had secretly leveraged family assets tied to a future transfer he did not yet control.
Not millions.
Hundreds of millions.
He used the guarantees to finance expansion into ports and freight operations.
If the twins lived to adulthood, the structure collapsed.
If they died—
Roman gained control.
“How long has this been planned?”
Franklin looked away.
“The financial part? Years.”
“Their leukemia?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
I believed it.
“You didn’t cause the cancer.”
“No.”
“So when they got sick…”
“Roman saw…”
He stopped.
“Say it.”
“An opportunity.”
I nearly killed him.
I felt it.
The movement beginning in my arms.
Mara stepped between us.
Not touching me.
Just standing where I would have to go through her.
“Lawson.”
I stared at Franklin over her shoulder.
“He used my children’s cancer.”
“Yes.”
Mara’s voice softened.
“If you kill him, Roman gets the only witness who can prove it.”
That stopped me.
Barely.
I looked at Franklin.
“And Genevieve?”
His face changed.
“She found the forged signatures.”
“Did Roman kill her?”
Franklin said nothing.
I stepped around Mara.
“Did you switch her medication?”
His eyes filled.
That was the answer.
Mara whispered, “Franklin.”
He sat.
Then covered his face.
“I didn’t know she had the aneurysm.”
I could not breathe.
“You put blood thinners into her medication.”
“Yes.”
Prescott cursed.
“Why?”
“Roman wanted her frightened.”
I stared.
“Frightened?”
“He wanted bruising.”
Franklin’s voice shook.
“Bleeding gums. A hospital scare. He wanted you both distracted while the loan documents cleared.”
“And instead?”
“She had an undiagnosed vascular defect.”
My chest broke open.
“The medication made the hemorrhage catastrophic.”
Franklin cried.
“I tried to save her.”
I heard nothing after that.
Genevieve on the floor.
Blythe screaming.
Jonah hiding beneath the bed.
My wife dying in my arms.
Not fate.
Not random.
A plan intended to frighten her had killed her.
Franklin looked at me.
“I am sorry.”
I struck him once.
Hard.
He fell.
Prescott moved.
Mara grabbed my arm.
“Enough.”
I looked down at Franklin.
Blood ran from his mouth.
Still alive.
Good.
I stepped back.
“Prescott.”
“Yes.”
“Call the U.S. Attorney.”
He stared.
That was not how the Mercer organization handled betrayal.
“I want this documented.”
Prescott nodded.
Franklin looked terrified.
“Lawson.”
“You’re going to testify.”
“Roman will kill me.”
“Then federal custody is probably your best option.”
I turned toward the door.
My phone rang.
Camille.
I answered.
“What?”
Her voice was urgent.
“Blythe’s fever is climbing.”
My entire body changed.
“Jonah?”
“Stable.”
“And Blythe?”
“We need to move fast.”
I ran upstairs.
Blythe lay shaking beneath blankets.
Her eyes found me.
“Daddy.”
I took her hand.
“I’m here.”
“Mara said I’m not dying.”
My throat closed.
I looked behind me.
Mara stood at the doorway.
Apparently she had told her something.
I should have been angry.
I wasn’t.
“Did she?”
Blythe nodded.
“Is she right?”
Children do not understand cautious medical language.
They understand promises.
I looked at Camille.
She gave no answer.
Couldn’t.
So I told my daughter the only truth I had.
“We found something to fight.”
Blythe squeezed my hand.
“Will you fight it?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes began closing.
“Good.”
She whispered.
“Because you’re scary.”
Mara laughed softly through tears.
So did I.
Forty-eight hours.
That was what mattered now.
Not Roman.
Not vengeance.
Not the empire.
My children.
And for the first time since Genevieve died, there was a difference between fear and certainty.
May you like
I was terrified.
But I was no longer certain I would lose them.
