Chapter 7 - Breaking the Signal
Clara didn't wait for a reply. She kicked open the car door and strode purposefully toward the gate. Sean cursed under his breath, grabbing his medical emergency bag from the backseat and running after her.
At the pedestrian gate intercom, Clara slammed her palm against the call button repeatedly. A gruff security guard appeared on the other side of the wrought-iron bars, wearing a dark polo shirt and an earpiece.
""Private property. Clear out,"" the guard said, resting his hand on his utility belt.
""I am Nurse Clara Vance, and this is Dr. Sean Mercer of Denver Memorial,"" Clara said, her voice cutting through the dry desert air with absolute authority. ""The child inside is suffering from acute, induced thyrotoxic crisis. If you do not open this gate immediately, you are an accessory to premeditated pediatric homicide under federal jurisdiction.""
The guard hesitated, his eyes flickering between Clara’s iron gaze and Sean’s stethoscope hanging from his medical kit. ""Look, lady, I don't know what you're talking about. The lady paid for private security—""
""Call your dispatch!"" Sean shouted, stepping forward. ""Ask them if their insurance covers aiding and abetting the broadcasted death of a minor on a monetized social media platform. Because there are three million people watching him die on that stream right now, and when the police arrive, your face will be on every federal indictment in this state!""
The guard’s walkie-talkie suddenly crackled with frantic static. A voice cried out from the house: ""Hey! The kid fell off the bed! He’s convulsing! Turn off the stream, turn it off—""
The guard turned pale, unlocked the gate with a magnetic key card, and swung it wide. ""Up the stairs. Master bedroom.""
Clara and Sean sprinted across the landscaped courtyard, through the double glass doors, and up the marble staircase. The sound of high-pitched screaming echoed from the upper hallway.
They burst into the master suite to find absolute chaos.
The softbox lights were knocked over, casting harsh, blinding angles against the walls. The iPad lay on the floor, its screen still displaying a torrent of rolling comments and flashing emoji gifts. Sarah was backing away toward the bathroom, hands covering her mouth in genuine, horrified shock.
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On the plush white carpet, Toby was seizing violently. His limbs jerked uncontrollably, foam bubbling at the corners of his pale blue lips, his tiny eyes rolled back into his skull.
""Get the bag!"" Sean roared, dropping to his knees beside the boy. ""Airway first! Clara, draw up five milligrams of midazolam, now!""
