Chapter 990:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

Julian Croft answered on the first ring.

“The fish is in the net,” Hilliard said, his voice low. “Prepare to receive Donovan Van Doren.”

He ended the call without waiting for a reply. He looked around at the racks of deadly poisons, at the gleaming, sterile equipment that had created the weapon that was killing Cailin. A flicker of profound weariness crossed his face.

He turned and walked out. In the corridor, Ethan reported that the data transfer would take another ten minutes.

Hilliard nodded. “When it’s done, send a copy to Silas Croft. Then get out.”

He didn’t wait. He walked to the elevator, a solitary figure moving through the controlled chaos. He needed to get back to the hospital. He needed to be with her.

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing him off from the darkness he had just unleashed.

Save your favorite novels on galnovels.com

At that same moment, on a sprawling estate in Long Island, a high-priority alert shrieked from Donovan Van Doren’s phone. The screen glowed with a single, terrifying message: Giselle’s life signs were in catastrophic decline.

The black SUV screeched to a halt at the private VIP entrance of Mount Sinai Hospital. The doors flew open before the vehicle had fully stopped. Two of Hilliard’s men lifted a moaning, semi-conscious Giselle onto a waiting gurney and rushed her inside.

The entire floor had been cleared. Hilliard’s private medical team stood ready, their faces grim.

Giselle was wheeled into a prepared room. Monitors were attached, IV lines inserted. The room filled with the steady, rhythmic beeping of her life signs.

Hilliard stood in the doorway, a cold, detached observer. “Keep her alive,” he told the lead doctor. “But don’t cure her.”

The doctors exchanged uneasy glances but nodded in compliance. They began administering basic life support, nothing more.

Hilliard turned and walked to Cailin’s room. He paused at the door, looking through the glass window at her still, pale form. His jaw tightened.

His phone vibrated. A text from Ethan Cole: Data copied. We are evacuating the premises.

Acknowledged, Hilliard typed back. He then walked to the lounge at the end of the hall, which had been converted into his temporary war room.

Just as he reached the door, the elevator at the far end of the corridor chimed softly. The doors slid open, and Julian Croft strolled out, a lazy, unconcerned smile on his face.

Two of his aides followed, quickly setting up encrypted communication arrays in the lounge.

Julian walked over to Hilliard, handing him a cup of black coffee. “You’ve had a busy night,” he remarked, his tone light.

Hilliard ignored the pleasantry. His eyes were like chips of flint. “Where is he?”

Julian glanced at a tablet. “Donovan’s helicopter is three minutes from the rooftop helipad.”

Aboard that helicopter, Donovan Van Doren’s face was a thundercloud. His chief of staff was giving him a hurried briefing. Giselle’s signal originated from this floor of Mount Sinai. The entire level was on lockdown, controlled by Hilliard Holloway’s private security.

.

.

.