Chapter 2 - THE WHITE KNIGHT
Alexander stared at the object illuminated by the passing streetlights.
It was partially spilling out of the unzipped pocket of Olivia’s canvas tote bag, which she had accidentally left on the floorboard in her exhausted haste.
It was a heavy, custom-milled titanium chess piece. A White Knight.
His blood didn’t just run cold; it stopped completely.
There were only two of those pieces in the world. He owned one. The other had belonged to his mentor, Elias Vance, who had been missing and presumed dead for six months.
“Marcus,” Alexander’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Stop the car. Back up. Now.”
The heavy Maybach smoothly reversed down the rain-slicked Manhattan street.
Alexander’s mind raced. He had assumed she was just a tired nurse making a mistake. But the presence of Elias’s White Knight changed everything. Was she a corporate spy? An assassin?
No. He remembered the heavy, absolute surrender of her sleep. You can’t fake that level of exhaustion. Someone had planted it on her. Or worse, someone had deliberately aimed her at his car.
They reached the corner where she had stepped out.
Through the rain-streaked window, Alexander saw her. She hadn't made it far. Olivia was leaning against a brick wall, digging frantically through her pockets.
A sleek, unmarked black SUV was creeping down the street, its headlights off, slowly pulling up right beside her.
The back door of the SUV began to slide open. A man in a dark raincoat stepped out, reaching toward Olivia.
Alexander didn't think. He reacted.
He threw open his door, stepping into the freezing rain. “Hey!” he barked, his voice echoing with decades of boardroom authority.
The man froze, eyes darting to Alexander, then to the imposing figure of Marcus who had materialized instantly by the driver's side, hand resting inside his jacket.
The man in the raincoat calculated the odds, stepped back into the SUV, and slammed the door. The vehicle sped off into the night, tires squealing against the wet asphalt.
Olivia slid down the brick wall, her knees finally giving out.
Alexander reached her just before she hit the pavement. He caught her by the shoulders. She was trembling violently, her eyes wide with shock.
“They… they were following me,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“I know,” Alexander said gently, pulling her up. “You’re coming with me.”
He guided her back into the warmth of the Maybach. She didn't fight him. She sank into the leather, pulling her knees to her chest.
Alexander picked up her canvas bag and carefully extracted the titanium chess piece. He held it up in the dim light.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, his tone demanding but not cruel.
Olivia stared at it, her brow furrowing. “I… I didn’t. I’ve never seen that before.”
“It was in your bag.”
She shook her head, tears of pure exhaustion mixing with the rain on her cheeks. “I don't know! I swear. I was working a double shift in the ER. The only unusual thing was the John Doe in Bed 7. He grabbed my bag when he coded.”
Alexander leaned forward, the air leaving his lungs. “A John Doe? Older man? White hair, small scar above his left eyebrow?”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “Yes. How do you know?”
“Because he’s not a John Doe,” Alexander said grimly. “What did he say to you before he coded?”
Olivia swallowed hard, trying to search her exhausted brain. “He… he grabbed my bag. And he whispered, ‘Find the black car. Protect the boy.’”
Alexander and Marcus exchanged a dark look in the rearview mirror.
“Marcus,” Alexander said. “Take us to St. Jude’s Hospital. Right now.”
Olivia panicked, grabbing his sleeve. “No! You don't understand, I can't go back there. They fired me tonight. That's why I was so out of it.”
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“Fired you? For what?”
“They said I forged a patient transfer,” she choked out. “A patient transfer for Bed 7.”
