Chapter 5 - The Glass Wall
I sprinted up the grand staircase, taking three steps at a time, my rubber-soled shoes squealing against the polished marble.
The corridor leading to the eastern wing was completely sealed.
A heavy, clear plexiglass fire door—designed to drop automatically in the event of a chemical spill or fire—had descended from the ceiling, blocking the hallway entirely. Beyond the thick glass, I could see the door to the boys’ nursery suite.
And floating out from beneath the nursery door was a thick, visible white mist.
It wasn't a subtle aerosol anymore. They were flooding the room. Blake’s contingency plan had been activated—if his plot was exposed, he was going to wipe out the evidence, kill the boys, and blame it on an catastrophic HVAC equipment failure.
“Lucas! Leo!” I screamed, slamming my palms against the heavy plexiglass wall.
Inside the nursery through the viewing window, I saw Lucas drop from his bed to the floor, clutching his throat, his little legs buckling under him. Leo was sitting on his knees, pounding his weak fists against his bedroom glass, his mouth open in a silent scream for help.
“Mr. Moretti!” I roared, turning back toward the stairs. “VINCENT!”
Vincent appeared at the end of the hall, wearing an unbuttoned dress shirt, his hair disheveled, looking around in utter confusion as the red emergency strobe lights began flashing along the ceiling corridors.
“What is happening?” Vincent demanded, running toward me. “Why is the quarantine barrier down?”
“Your doctor is a murderer!” I screamed, grabbing Vincent by his collar and dragging him to the plexiglass wall. “Look at your sons! LOOK AT THEM!”
Vincent looked through the glass. His face went completely white, all the color draining from his features in an instant. He saw his boys on the floor, surrounded by the thick white vapor, gasping for air.
“My God,” Vincent gasped, dropping his hands to the glass frame. “Leo! Lucas!”
He threw his shoulder against the heavy fire door, but the reinforced barrier didn't even budge. It was built to withstand an industrial explosion.
“Where is the manual override?” I yelled, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Vincent, listen to me! They have two minutes before that toxin stops their breathing permanently! WHERE IS THE OVERRIDE?”
“The security office,” Vincent stammered, his eyes wide with horror and realization. “In the east wing... but it’s locked!”
“Get out of the way,” I said.
I picked up a heavy, solid bronze decorative vase standing on a pedestal beside the staircase—a heavy piece weighing at least forty pounds.
I hauled it back over my shoulder and drove it with every ounce of strength I possessed straight into the central seam of the fire door.
CRACK.
The plexiglass shattered into a spiderweb of white fractures, but it didn't break through.
Vincent saw what I was doing. The sight of his dying children ignited something primal inside him—the billionaire CEO disappeared, replaced by a father fighting for his children’s lives. He grabbed a heavy steel floor lamp, swung it like an axe, and slammed it into the cracked seam.
BOOM.
The glass gave way, shattering into thousands of harmless plastic fragments that rained down onto the carpet.
We didn't hesitate. We plunged through the opening, straight into the thick, sweet-smelling white mist flooding the corridor.
I pulled my cardigan up over my nose and mouth, grabbing Vincent by the arm. “Don't breathe it in! Cover your face!”
We kicked open the nursery door.
The air inside was blindingly thick, smelling overwhelmingly of artificial lilies and copper.
Lucas was lying unconscious beside his bed, his lips turning a faint, terrifying shade of blue. Leo was slumped against the wall, his breathing ragged, shallow, and rapidly failing.
Vincent dropped to his knees, grabbing Lucas in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he held his son’s limp body against his chest. “Lucas! Open your eyes, buddy! Please, open your eyes!”
I rushed to Leo, scooping the small, light boy into my arms. His body felt dangerously cold, his pulse beneath my fingers tiny, irregular, and fading fast.
“We have to get them outside!” I yelled over the roaring sound of the ventilation vents. “NOW!”
We sprinted back through the broken fire door, down the grand staircase, and out through the shattered glass doors of the patio, bursting into the cool, fresh night air of the gardens.
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I laid Leo down on the soft grass, immediately rolling him onto his side to clear his airway, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, pumping oxygen into his tiny lungs while Vincent held Lucas, screaming for help into the night air.
In the distance, the wailing sirens of emergency vehicles—called by the automated system when the fire door was shattered—began to echo across the hills toward the estate.
