Chapter 5 - The Trap is Set
The morning sun cast a brilliant, deceptive golden glow over the manicured lawns of the La Jolla estate. By 8:30 AM, the atmosphere inside the mansion was deceptively serene. The household staff bustled about their morning routines, completely unaware of the seismic shift taking place beneath the surface.
At precisely 8:45 AM, a sleek silver Mercedes pulled up to the front portico. Dr. Gregory Vance stepped out, impeccably dressed in a charcoal-tailored suit, carrying his leather medical case. His expression was the picture of calm, professional concern as he handed his car keys to the valet.
He walked up the grand marble steps, expecting Howard to greet him with the usual polite stiffness.
Instead, the heavy oak doors swung open instantly. But it wasn't Howard standing there.
It was Ethan Whitmore.
Dr. Vance paused, flashing his signature professional smile. “Good morning, Ethan. I trust Noah rested well? I wanted to check his overnight biometric sync before his morning tutoring session.”
Ethan didn't smile. He didn't even blink. He simply stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance.
“Good morning, Gregory,” Ethan said, his voice dripping with an icy stillness. “Step inside.”
Vance sensed something was off immediately. The air in the foyer felt heavy, charged with an unnatural tension. Two private security guards, men built like brick walls whom Ethan had personally flown in from a private security firm in Zurich, flanked the hallway.
“Is there a problem?” Vance asked, keeping his composure as he stepped across the threshold. “If this is about yesterday’s hospitalization, I assure you, mild hypoglycemic episodes are quite common in Type 1 management when dietary compliance slips. It’s precisely why we need to adjust his—'
“It’s not about compliance, Gregory,” a cool, sharp voice echoed from the top of the grand staircase.
Vance’s head snapped upward.
Standing on the landing, wearing a crisp, professional white lab coat over her crisp blouse, stood Rose. She held a black leather binder embossed with BioGenesis Corp’s confidential logo.
Color instantly drained from Vance’s face. The professional mask slipped, revealing a flicker of raw panic in his eyes.
“You...” Vance breathed, his voice tightening. “You’re... you’re Rosalind Carter.”
“Dr. Carter, to you, Gregory,” Rose said as she descended the stairs with measured, deliberate steps. “Or did you forget what a real endocrinologist looks like when you’re too busy forging clinical trial data for venture capital firms?”
Vance looked from Rose to Ethan, who was now closing and locking the heavy front doors behind him.
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“Ethan, you can’t possibly be listening to a disgruntled former researcher and a domestic servant,” Vance stammered, stepping backward toward the study doors. “She’s unstable. She was struck off for professional misconduct—'
“She was framed by BioGenesis and you, Gregory,” Ethan interrupted, stepping forward so fast Vance stumbled back against the console table. Ethan’s hand shot out, grabbing Vance by the lapels of his expensive suit and lifting him slightly off the floor with terrifying strength. “And my son was your test subject.”
