Chapter 4 - The Man at the Door
At 8:30 p.m., headlights swept across the clinic blinds. Heavy footsteps stopped outside, followed by an aggressive rap against the glass door.
I locked the inner consultation room, telling Noah to stay under the blanket, and walked to the front.
A tall man in a dark trench coat stood outside. It wasn't Michael; it was Marcus, the chauffeur.
I opened the door an inch, leaving the security chain attached. "We're closed."
"A boy came this way," Marcus said, his eyes scanning the empty waiting room. "Five years old, wearing gray. He ran off from our estate down the road. Family wants him back without a scene."
"No children have been brought here tonight," I lied smoothly, keeping my face emotionless. "Try the regional hospital on 4th Avenue."
Marcus narrowed his eyes, peering past my shoulder at a wet puddle on the floor. "He's got a family, lady. Don't make this complicated."
"If a child arrives, I will notify the authorities," I said. "Now step off my property, or I’ll trigger the clinic's silent alarm."
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Marcus sneered, tapped the glass with his signet ring, and retreated to a black town car idling at the curb.
The moment he pulled away, I picked up the landline. I didn't call the standard precinct line. I called Detective Ramirez, a former patient who owed his life to this clinic, and my attorney, Claire Vance.
