Chapter 15 - The Angel of St. Jude’s
By morning, the penthouse atop the Vance Tower in downtown Chicago had become an impenetrable fortress. Armed private contractors stood at every elevator bank, and electronic sweeps were conducted every sixty minutes.
Clara sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the grey fog roll off Lake Michigan. JJ was asleep in a portable crib, guarded by Arthur himself.
The heavy glass doors of the boardroom opened, and Julian walked in, accompanied by a woman in a crisp navy pantsuit carrying a leather medical binder.
"Clara," Julian said gently. "This is Dr. Vivian Cross. She’s the newly appointed chief of pediatric surgery at St. Jude’s, and the liaison for the trauma wing your foundation is funding. Arthur vetted her credentials through three separate hospital boards. I wanted her here to personally examine JJ after last night."
Clara stood up, looking at the woman. Vivian Cross was stunning, in her late thirties, with striking almond-shaped amber eyes and dark chestnut hair pulled into a severe, elegant chignon. There was a poised, sterile perfection about her, the kind common among high-tier surgeons.
"Mrs. Vance," Dr. Cross said, offering a warm, professional hand. "I’m so honored to meet you. The work your foundation is doing for maternal trauma is revolutionary. What happened to you at the estate... no mother should ever endure that."
Clara shook her hand. But the moment Vivian’s skin touched hers, Clara felt an inexplicable, violent jolt of repulsion. Vivian’s hands were ice-cold. And as Vivian pulled her hand back to open her medical bag, Clara caught a faint, unmistakable scent rising from the lapel of the doctor’s jacket.
Lavender and crushed mint.
The exact bespoke scent Eleanor Vance had imported from Paris for over forty years.
Clara’s throat tightened, but she forced a polite smile, stepping between the doctor and JJ’s crib. "Thank you, Dr. Cross. But JJ is resting comfortably right now. I don't want him disturbed."
Vivian’s amber eyes flickered, a razor-thin smile gracing her lips. "Of course. A mother’s protection is sacred. I understand completely." Vivian turned to Julian, her voice dropping into a comforting, sympathetic pitch. "Julian, the hospital board also requested that you review the land deeds for the new surgical annex. There appears to be a slight discrepancy regarding the northern perimeter bordering the old Vance estate."
"I’ll have Arthur review it immediately," Julian answered smoothly.
"Actually," Vivian said, pulling a legal document from her bag, "the state registrar requires your direct signature. It concerns the subterranean water rights of the property."
At the mention of *water rights*, Clara’s eyes locked onto Vivian’s neck. There, just beneath the collar of her silk blouse, hung a delicate platinum chain supporting a pendant shaped like a tiny, coiled serpent.
Clara’s breath seized. *It was her.*
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The daughter wasn't an assassin hiding in the dark. She was standing in their living room, cloaked in the white coat of a savior.
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