Chapter 3 - The Iron Gates of Ashcombe
The black armored SUV slid silently through the towering wrought-iron gates of the Ashcombe estate, cutting through the thick mist rolling off Lake Michigan. The mansion was a sprawling limestone fortress of modern glass and gothic revival masonry, tucked behind five acres of dense, ancient oak trees in the most exclusive enclave of the North Shore.
Claire sat in the plush leather backseat, staring out the window with her arm wrapped protectively around Lily, who had fallen back asleep against her shoulder. The little girl was clutching the battered storybook in her arms, completely unaware that the fairy tale world inside its pages was the only thing shielding them from a very real nightmare.
As the vehicle pulled into the subterranean heated garage, Roman turned around from the front passenger seat.
"We have a private medical suite on the lower level," Roman told her, his voice softening slightly as he looked at Lily. "I’ve already had Dr. Vance—no relation to Evelyn, thank God—wait, Dr. Aris Thorne, my personal physician, set up to look at your ribs. You’re bruised, Claire. You need professional care."
"I'm fine," Claire muttered, though every bump the car had taken over the last twenty minutes had sent a sharp jolt of agony through her left side.
"You're stubborn," Roman countered, pushing the door open and offering a steady hand to help her out. "Come on. Let's get Lily settled first."
The lower-level suite was more luxurious than any five-star hotel Claire had ever seen. Floor-to-ceiling glass panels looked out over an indoor Zen garden, while the interior was appointed with warm oak furnishings, plush white bedding, and state-of-the-art security monitors humming quietly in the corner.
Within ten minutes, Dr. Thorne—a sharp-eyed, silver-haired man in his late fifties—had examined Claire, wrapped her ribs in a supportive compression binder, and prescribed a mild painkiller.
"You're lucky none of those ribs are displaced," Dr. Thorne said, packing his leather bag. "A few more inches to the right and you'd have a punctured lung. Rest for forty-eight hours, Ms. Bennett. No heavy lifting, no stress—though given who your landlord is, I assume avoiding stress is impossible."
Roman stood by the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. "Thank you, Aris. Keep the medical notes encrypted on my private server. I don't want anyone at the main house knowing she's here."
"Already done, Roman," the doctor replied, shooting a sympathetic glance at Claire before exiting the suite.
When the door clicked shut, Roman walked over to the bed. He looked down at Lily, who was breathing softly in the oversized guest bed, her face relaxed.
"She's a brave little girl," Roman said quietly. "When I got through on your phone... all I heard was her voice. Mommy can't get up. Do you know what that did to me, Claire?"
Claire looked up, meeting his intense gray gaze. "It made you drive across the city like a lunatic."
"It made me realize that for the last two years, I have been sleepwalking through a life engineered by a murderer," Roman corrected, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. He placed a hand on the edge of the mattress, leaning in just a fraction closer. "Evelyn thinks she owns me. She thinks she has secured her place as the queen of my empire. But she made one fatal mistake."
"What's that?"
"She left you alive," Roman said.
Before Claire could answer, a sharp chime echoed through the room's intercom system. Roman straightened up immediately, tapping a wall-mounted console.
"Hale," Roman barked.
Victor’s voice came through the speaker, breathless and tense. "Boss, you need to come up to the main security hub right now. We just finished interrogating the two men from the apartment."
"And?" Roman demanded.
"They didn't break because of the torture, Boss. They broke because they realized Evelyn already burned their files," Victor said, his voice dropping an octave. "She didn't just send them to retrieve the medical files. She sent them to eliminate everyone involved in the Salem General cover-up—including the doctor who signed the altered logs."
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Roman’s face hardened into stone. "Who was the doctor?"
"Dr. Christopher," Victor replied. "And according to our prisoners... Evelyn’s security team just found him in his home ten minutes ago. He's dead. Staged as a suicide."
