Chapter 6 - THE POISONED TEA
The next morning, the mansion was buzzing with tense energy.
Black luxury sedans were already arriving at the front gates, carrying the senior capos and regional bosses of the Moretti syndicate. Vincent had invited the entire council for an early afternoon luncheon prior to the formal vote at 8:00 PM.
In the kitchen, Clare was preparing a tray of fresh espresso and pastries for the arriving guests. Her hands were steady, but her mind was racing.
She had barely slept two hours. Every muscle in her body ached from supporting Adrien’s weight during their grueling midnight training sessions. He had managed to take three painful steps before dawn—three steps that proved his nervous system was recovering, but far from combat-ready.
As she picked up the silver coffee pot, she noticed Dr. Reeves entering the private pantry near the back of the kitchen.
Clare stepped silently behind the heavy velvet curtain that separated the pantry from the main hallway.
Dr. Reeves was standing near the medicine cabinet, opening a small glass vial filled with a clear, odorless liquid. Standing beside him was Vincent.
"Is this concentrated?" Vincent asked in a low whisper.
"It's a high-dose paralytic compound," Dr. Reeves replied, his voice trembling slightly. "It acts within twenty minutes. It causes complete vocal cord paralysis and severe respiratory suppression. If you slip this into his tea before the meeting, he won't even be able to speak to defend himself when the council asks for his input."
Vincent smiled darkly. "Perfect. The council will see a mute, gasping invalid who can't even hold his head up. They’ll vote me in unanimously by 8:15 PM."
"And the maid?" Dr. Reeves asked. "She’s been asking too many questions about his previous pill records."
"Don't worry about the maid," Vincent said coldly. "My men are taking her down to the boathouse at 7:00 PM. Once the vote is finished, she'll have an 'accidental' fall through the icy lake."
Clare felt her heart stop. She pressed her hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp.
She waited until Vincent and Dr. Reeves exited the pantry before slipping out from behind the curtain. Her mind was spinning. They weren't just planning to take Adrien's title—they were planning to permanently silence him and murder her before the night was over.
She needed to get to Adrien immediately.
Clare hurried up the grand staircase, carrying a tray of tea. But as she reached the third-floor corridor leading to the master suite, two armed guards blocked her path.
"Floor is restricted," one guard said gruffly. "Mr. Vincent’s orders. No staff allowed in the boss’s room until the meeting starts."
"I have his morning tea—"
"Leave it on the cart," the guard barked, pointing to a metal serving tray near the elevator. "Now move."
Clare backed away slowly, her eyes wide with terror. Vincent had completely isolated Adrien. Adrien was trapped in his room, unaware that the tea arriving on that cart in thirty minutes would contain a fatal paralytic drug.
Clare ran down the servant's staircase, her brain working frantically.
She couldn't reach Adrien directly. She couldn't call the police—the Moretti syndicate owned the local precinct. She had no weapon, no allies inside the mansion, and less than seven hours before Vincent’s men dragged her to the boathouse.
Then she remembered the old dumbwaiter shaft behind the pantry.
It was an antique manual elevator used in the early 1900s to transport laundry between the basement and the master suite. It had been sealed off decades ago, but the access hatch in the pantry was only secured with an old iron latch.
Clare ran back into the pantry, pulled away a stack of wooden crates, and found the small square wooden door.
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It was tight, dark, and filled with decades of dust and rusted cables.
She pulled out her small black notebook, tucked it inside her belt, grabbed a heavy brass candleholder from the shelf for defense, and squeezed her body into the narrow dark shaft.
