Chapter 5 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
"Hello, Owen," Dr. Hale said softly, his voice echoing in the confined tunnel.
He stood perfectly still on the other side of the heavy iron grate. Caroline was sobbing over her father's unconscious body. Preston was backed against the wall, paralyzed by fear.
I raised my gun through the bars, aiming directly at Hale’s face.
"Give her the syringe," I demanded, my hands shaking. "Pass it through the bars right now."
Hale smiled, a sad, empty expression. "This is the antidote to the monkshood. It will restart his heart and flush the toxin. But if I give it to him, Clara, he lives to buy another company. He lives to ruin another family."
"You ruined mine!" I screamed. "You killed my father!"
"Your father was a casualty of war," Hale said coldly. "Just like my son."
Owen pressed his face against the iron bars. "Richard, please. You took five years of my life. You proved your point. You took his money, you destroyed his legacy. Don't let him die on a dirt floor."
Hale looked at Owen, and for a fraction of a second, the doctor's composure cracked.
He reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a folded, faded piece of paper. He pushed it through the bars. It fluttered to the dirt floor at my feet.
I picked it up.
It was a child's drawing done in crayon. A stick figure of a boy holding hands with a taller man next to a crude, black oil derrick. At the top, in clumsy letters, it read: ME AND DAD.
"My son drew that three days before Arthur Vance’s negligence burned him alive," Hale whispered, a tear finally tracking down his cheek. "I’ve carried it every day for thirty years. Every time Arthur smiled, every time he clinked a glass of expensive wine, I looked at this drawing."
Caroline looked up from her father’s chest. "Richard, I'm begging you. I'll sign the company over to you. I'll go to the press and confess everything we did to your family. Just save him."
Hale looked down at the syringe. He seemed to be weighing thirty years of grief against the weeping daughter at his feet.
"Throw the gun away, Clara," Hale commanded, looking back at me. "Slide it under the grate. If you do, I will give Caroline the antidote."
I hesitated. If I gave up the gun, we were completely defenseless against his men.
"Do it, Clara!" Caroline screamed. "He's not breathing!"
I looked at Owen. He gave me a single, grim nod.
I knelt and slid the handgun beneath the iron bars.
Hale kicked it away into the darkness. Then, true to his word, he knelt and handed the syringe to Caroline.
"Straight into the chest," Hale instructed mechanically. "Depress the plunger fully."
Caroline didn't hesitate. She jammed the needle into her father’s chest and pushed the plunger.
For ten agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Then, Arthur’s back arched. He took a massive, shuddering breath, his eyes snapping open as he coughed violently.
"Daddy," Caroline sobbed, collapsing onto his chest.
Hale watched them. He didn't look victorious. He looked incredibly tired.
"The money is transferred," Hale said quietly. "My men are clearing out. You can keep your father, Owen. But the Vance empire is dead."
He turned to walk away into the darkness of the tunnel.
"Richard," Owen called out.
Hale stopped, looking back over his shoulder.
"You shouldn't have given me the same meals as your guards in Mexico," Owen said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Hale frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"I cooked for them sometimes," Owen said, gripping the iron bars. "And for you, when you visited. Do you remember those severe migraines you started getting three years ago? The tremors in your hands?"
Hale went perfectly still. He looked down at his right hand. It was shaking violently.
"Oleander," Owen whispered. "I grew it in the courtyard of the compound you kept me in. I ground the leaves into powder. I’ve been slowly poisoning you for three years, Richard. That’s why your heart rate is spiking right now. Adrenaline accelerates it."
Hale’s face drained of color. He clutched his chest, his breathing suddenly ragged.
"You have about four minutes before the cardiac arrest is permanent," Owen said coldly.
Hale staggered backward, his eyes wide with terror. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a walkie-talkie.
"Get down here!" Hale screamed into the radio. "Breach the gates! Get me a medic!"
He dropped the radio and collapsed against the tunnel wall, sliding down into the dirt.
May you like
But the radio crackled back, and the voice that answered wasn't one of Hale's security guards.
"Doctor Hale?" a heavy, unfamiliar voice echoed from the speaker. "Your men are dead. And we’re not here to save you."
