Chapter 2 - The Call That Changed Everything
The bus ride home felt longer than usual. Clara clutched her handbag tightly against her ribs, the stolen envelope burning through the fabric like a hot coal. Her nurse’s training kept looping the medical data in her head: a lethal interaction of anticoagulants and unprescribed sedatives, timestamped at hours when Isabella was supposedly under strict ICU supervision. It wasn't an oversight. It was a targeted execution, smoothed over by a corrupted physician, Dr. Vincent Hallow, and funded by someone who stood to gain everything from the Moretti empire.
When Clara arrived at her apartment, Lily was shivering under three blankets. Mrs. Alvarez looked up, her face lined with exhaustion. "Her fever spiked again, Clara. I gave her the medicine, but she keeps crying for you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Alvarez. I'll take over," Clara whispered, her heart sinking. She immediately shifted from a terrified secretary back into a professional nurse. She cooled Lily down with damp cloths, checked her pulse, and stayed awake through the grueling hours of the night. By 4:00 AM, the stress, hunger, and physical exhaustion finally caught up to Clara. Her vision blurred, and her chest felt suffocatingly heavy. She collapsed onto the small mattress beside Lily, her body shutting down completely from a severe panic-induced asthma attack and sheer physical collapse.
Meanwhile, at Moretti Tower, Valeria St. Clair stood in Dante’s office. She had spent the last few hours twisting the narrative. "Dante, Clara was snooping in your mother’s private archives today. I caught her red-handed. She’s looking for something to leverage against the family before the wedding. You cannot trust an employee who crosses those lines."
Dante’s face was carved from stone. His mother's death was his deepest, unhealed wound. The thought of someone defiling her memory or using her peace as blackmail enraged him. He picked up his phone. It was 6:30 AM.
"I will handle it personally," Dante said coldly. He dialed Clara’s number, intending to fire her on the spot, banish her from the corporate empire, and ensure she never found work in this city again.
The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
Instead of Clara’s professional, cautious voice, a tiny, trembling whimper answered.
"Hello...?"
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Dante paused, his brow furrowing. "Who is this? Where is Clara Hayes?"
"Mommy..." the small voice sobbed, muffled and terrified. "Mommy can't get up. I tried to wake her up, but she's making a scary sound and her eyes are closed. Mommy can't get up..."
