Chapter 5 - The Glass Clinic on Euclid Avenue
At 2:45 PM sharp, Christopher’s car pulled up to the curb outside the Vance Family Foundation offices where I had pretended to work through the early afternoon.
I stepped into the passenger seat, wearing an elegant cream-colored cashmere sweater that concealed the surveillance transmitters against my collarbone and ribs.
“How was Toby’s driving permit paperwork?” Christopher asked casually, leaning over to kiss my cheek as he navigated into the downtown traffic.
“Smooth,” I answered, keeping my hands folded calmly on my lap. “He’s growing up so fast, Christopher. It’s hard to believe he’ll be heading to university next year.”
Christopher’s hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the leather steering wheel. “Yes. Time moves mercilessly fast. That’s why we have to prioritize your health, Gwen. I’ve spoken with Marcus; he has the private recovery suite prepared for you. It will be quiet, peaceful, and over before you know it.”
“You’ve always taken care of everything, haven’t you, Christopher?” I asked, looking at his profile.
“Always,” he said with a faint, chilling smile. “To the very end.”
We arrived at the Marcus Wellness Institute on Euclid Avenue, an ultra-modern glass-and-steel private facility catering to Cleveland’s wealthy elite. The lobby was lined with minimalist white marble, ambient waterfall features, and soft classical music designed to project an aura of serene legitimacy.
Dr. Robert Marcus met us in the private executive corridor. He was a sleek, fifty-year-old physician with silver hair, wearing an expensive bespoke lab coat and a practiced, reassuring bedside manner.
“Gwen, wonderful to see you,” Marcus said, offering a warm, dry hand. “Christopher explained that your fatigue has worsened over the past seventy-two hours. We’ve formulated a proprietary amino-acid and micronutrient compound that will restore your metabolic equilibrium.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said softly, stepping into Examination Room 4.
The room was opulent, equipped with a plush leather reclining chair instead of a standard hospital bed, surrounded by discreet, state-of-the-art diagnostic monitors.
Christopher stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “I’ll wait in the private lounge down the hall so you can rest without distraction, darling. Dr. Marcus will take extraordinary care of you.”
“Don’t go too far, Christopher,” I said, looking straight into his eyes. “I want you close by when this is finished.”
“I won’t leave the building,” he promised.
The heavy oak door closed, leaving me alone with Dr. Marcus.
Through the hidden earpiece concealed within my ear canal, I heard Raymond’s calm, steady voice: “Audio and video feeds are crystal clear, Gwen. BCI tactical units are in position outside the corridor. Stay calm. Let him prepare the injection.”
Marcus moved to the stainless steel prep counter. He hung a standard 500ml bag of normal saline on the IV pole and primed the tubing. Then, he turned to an automated narcotics safe in the corner of the room, entered a digital code, and retrieved a small, unlabelled amber glass vial containing a dense, clear solution.
He drew 10 milliliters of the liquid into a heavy syringe with deliberate precision.
“What is that specific compound, Dr. Marcus?” I asked, tilting my head toward the pendant on my chest to ensure the camera captured the exact markings on the vial.
Marcus smiled placidly, tapping the barrel of the syringe to clear the air bubbles. “Just a concentrated peptide stabilizer, Gwen. It acts quickly on the cardiovascular receptors to optimize cellular uptake. You might feel a slight warmth in your chest, followed by a heavy, relaxing sensation. Just close your eyes and let it work.”
“Will it stop my heart, Robert?” I asked in a clear, level voice.
Marcus froze. The syringe remained suspended in his hand inches above the IV injection port. His eyes darted to my face, the professional warmth instantly vanishing, replaced by a sudden, jarring panic.
“What did you just say?” Marcus stammered.
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“I asked if that concentrated dose of potassium chloride and succinylcholine will stop my heart fast enough to satisfy Christopher’s fourteen-day deadline,” I said coldly.
Before Marcus could speak, the double doors of Examination Room 4 were violently thrown open.
