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Chapter 194
Chapter 194:
She turned away, unable to meet June’s eyes.
“Thank you, Dr. Erickson,” she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “Thank you so much p>
June assumed it was simple relief. She rested a hand gently on Abbie’s shoulder.
“Wash your face. I need you focused tonight to help coordinate the gala,” she said softly. Then she turned and walked out.
The door clicked shut.
Abbie stood alone in the quiet room. She looked at the cold brew on the counter. She looked at the vial in her hand.
She picked up the ceramic mug and, without a moment’s hesitation, poured the entire contents down the stainless steel sink. She turned the faucet to hot and let the water run until the mug was clean, watching the dark liquid spiral away, wishing she could wash the guilt out with it.
She couldn’t do it. Even if Alycia burned her life to the ground, she would not harm the only person who had ever genuinely protected her.
Abbie screwed the cap back onto the vial, shoved it deep into her pocket, wiped her face, and let a new, desperate resolve harden behind her eyes.
What she didn’t know was that the night janitor — one of Alycia’s paid informants — had been standing just outside the glass wall of the pantry the entire time, watching her pour the coffee down the drain.
The crisis wasn’t over. It was about to turn violent.
𝗨𝘱𝖽𝗮𝘵е𝗌 𝗲𝘷еrу 𝗐eеk 𝗼𝘯.сom
At eight o’clock that evening, the grand ballroom of the Park Hyatt was packed. The Apex Bio celebration gala was in full swing.
June stood near the center of the room in a sleek, tailored black velvet gown. Even leaning on her custom crutches, she commanded the attention of every major investor present.
Abbie stood a few feet behind her, holding a silver tray with two glasses of champagne. Her eyes moved frantically across the crowded room.
In the shadows near the service exit, a large, heavily muscled man in a hotel staff uniform was watching her. A thick, ugly tattoo crept up from beneath his collar, visible above the edge of his name tag. He was the man Alycia had hired from Hell’s Kitchen.
Ten minutes earlier, he had cornered Abbie in the hallway. “The janitor saw what you pulled today,” he had hissed. “Don’t make the same mistake tonight.” He had been explicit: if the drink wasn’t spiked, the photographs of her mother would be projected onto the main wall of the nursing home during the evening social hour.
Abbie’s hands shook so badly the champagne flutes rang against the silver tray.
The thug caught her eye across the room. Slowly, deliberately, he raised one hand and dragged his thumb across his throat.
Abbie shut her eyes. She wanted to protect June. But the image of her mother collapsing from the shock of those photographs broke whatever was left of her resolve. Terror dismantled logic completely.