Chapter 202

[ 512 words ]

Chapter 202:

She walked into her closet and pulled out a blood-red, tailored blazer and a tight black skirt. She armored herself in designer clothing and slipped on a pair of massive, dark sunglasses.

She walked to the window and looked down at the sprawling lawns. She didn’t dare crack her main bedroom door open; she knew the General had posted guards in the hallway. Instead, Harper retreated into the depths of her massive walk-in closet. She pushed aside a row of winter coats and pressed her hand against a disguised wooden panel. It revealed a dark, narrow servant’s passage she’d used as a teenager to sneak out. The passage didn’t lead outside, but into a series of service tunnels that ended in the old, rarely used stables at the far edge of the estate. She knew the guard rotations in that sector were less frequent. With a surge of adrenaline, she slipped into the darkness, her phone’s flashlight her only guide. She moved quickly, her rage fueling her steps, and thirty minutes later she emerged into the dusty hayloft, the scent of old leather and earth a welcome change from her perfumed prison. The final gate was electronically locked, but she’d long ago learned the four-digit service code. She punched it in, the gate clicked open, and she stepped out onto the service road — a ghost escaping a fortress.

The black Maybach was idling on the street.

Harper yanked the door open and threw herself into the backseat.

“Drive,” Harper ordered.

The driver saw the furious scowl in the rearview mirror and immediately hit the gas.

𝘜𝗉𝖽𝘢𝘵е𝗌 е𝘃e𝘳𝘺 w𝖾𝘦𝗄 on g𝘢𝘭𝗇𝗈𝘷е𝗅𝘀.со𝗆

“Where to, Miss Romero?” he asked nervously.

“Washington United Medical Center,” Harper spat.

She pulled out her phone and opened the digital records of the Romero Family Foundation. She scrolled past the galas and the art museums until she found the medical grants.

There it was. The Foundation was the largest private donor to the hospital’s Emergency Department. They provided a five-million-dollar annual grant that kept the trauma bays operational.

A cruel, vicious smile stretched across Harper’s face.

This was the weapon. She was going to use five million dollars to crush Caroline like a bug. She was going to make that nurse beg for mercy.

The Maybach sped down the highway, carrying Harper’s toxic rage directly toward the hospital.

The black Maybach aggressively hopped the curb and parked directly in the red “No Parking” zone outside the hospital’s administrative building.

Harper kicked the door open and stepped onto the pavement, her red-soled stilettos clicking sharply against the concrete. She marched through the sliding glass doors like she owned the building.

She ignored the receptionist at the front desk and walked straight down the executive hallway until she reached the frosted glass door marked Head of Emergency Medicine — Dr. Finchley.

The secretary outside the office stood up, holding out a hand. “Excuse me, ma’am, you need an appointment—”

Harper stopped. She lowered her sunglasses slightly, fixing the secretary with a look of absolute, concentrated disdain.

“I am a Romero,” Harper said. Her voice was ice. “Sit down and shut up.”

The secretary froze, the color draining from her face.

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