Chapter 10 - The Race Against Fate
"Drive! Run every red light! Move!" Julian roared at his chauffeur, slamming his fist against the privacy partition.
The heavy armored vehicle accelerated with a terrifying screech of tires, weaving through the crowded downtown traffic like a guided missile. Julian’s hands, which had remained steady while confronting his brother and destroying two lives, were now shaking violently.
Mark Vance: "Diego won't survive the week. I have a friend inside the ICU pharmacy."
Mark’s arrogant confession from earlier flashed through Julian's mind like a bolt of lightning. The insider! Mark hadn't just plotted; he had already set the mechanism of Diego’s murder into motion before arriving at the Metropolitan Club.
Julian pulled out his phone, dialing Dr. Marcus with trembling fingers.
"Marcus! Pick up the damn phone!" Julian yelled into the receiver.
The line clicked. "Julian!" Marcus’s voice was frantic, accompanied by the high-pitched, chaotic screams of alarms and shouting medical staff in the background. "Diego went into sudden ventricular fibrillation! His blood sugar plummeted to near zero—he's in profound hypoglycemic shock! We are defibrillating him right now!"
"It’s insulin!" Julian screamed, his voice breaking with a terrifying mix of fury and fatherly agony. "It’s a deliberate overdose! Mark placed someone inside your pharmacy! Push glucose! Counteract the insulin immediately!"
"Clear!" Marcus shouted to his team over the phone, followed by the dull, sickening thud of the defibrillator paddles striking Diego’s tiny chest. "Push three amps of D50 immediately! Check the IV bag! Check the central line now!"
Julian’s limousine blew through a busy intersection, clipping the bumper of a taxi and sending sparks flying across the pavement, before swerving violently into the emergency ramp of St. Jude’s.
Julian didn't wait for the car to stop. He threw the heavy door open while the vehicle was still sliding at twenty miles per hour, hitting the asphalt in a dead sprint. He tore through the sliding glass doors of the pediatric wing, ignoring security guards, nurses, and weeping families in the waiting room.
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He burst through the double doors of the intensive care ward just as Dr. Marcus stepped away from Diego’s bed, his face drenched in sweat.
The heart monitor was flatlining, emitting a single, continuous, unbearable tone: EEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
