Marcus Steps In

Julian froze, his hand suspended in mid-air. The threat wasn't physical; it was financial. The Tiffany lamp was one of the few assets he hadn't yet liquidated or leveraged. To see it hovering in Arthur's trembling grip was like watching a stack of bonds teetering over a fire.

"Put it down," Julian said again, his voice tight. "We don't need to break anything."

Elena used the distraction. She scrambled backward, putting the heavy armoire between herself and Julian. The tote bag lay on the floor, its contents spilled like a gut wound. The tapes. The notebook. The forgery.

She couldn't grab them all. Julian was too close.

But she could grab the phone.

It was lying near the door, where she had dropped it when Julian grabbed her.

She lunged for it.

"No!" Julian shouted. He abandoned the standoff with Arthur and dived for Elena.

He caught her ankle. Elena kicked out, her heel connecting with his shin. He cursed but didn't let go. He dragged her back across the carpet.

"Marcus!" Elena screamed.

The door burst open. Marcus stood there, chest heaving. He had heard the commotion from the woods.

He took in the scene instantly—Arthur with the lamp, Julian on the floor gripping Elena's leg, the spilled evidence.

He didn't hesitate. He stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with a sudden, authoritative calm.

"Let her go," Marcus said. His voice was low, professional. The voice he used when patients were violent.

Julian looked up, his face twisted in a snarl. "Get out of my house. You're fired."

"I don't work for you," Marcus said. "I work for the agency. And right now, I'm witnessing an assault."

He pulled his phone from his pocket. "I'm calling 911. Again."

Julian hesitated. The police had already been here once. If they came back, and found this…

He released Elena's ankle.

Elena scrambled up, grabbing her phone. She backed toward Marcus.

"You think the police scare me?" Julian spat, standing up and brushing off his knees. "I own the police in this town. Just like Dad did."

"Maybe the local police," Marcus said, stepping between Julian and Elena. "But I'm calling the state troopers. Jurisdiction issues, you know?"

It was a bluff. Probably. But Julian couldn't be sure.

He looked at the evidence on the floor. Then at Arthur, who was still holding the lamp like a weapon.

"Fine," Julian said. "Call them. Let them see what my sister did. She broke into my father's safe. She stole his property."

"And you tried to strangle her," Marcus countered.

Julian straightened his tie. The mask of the grieving son slid back into place, terrifyingly fast. "I was restraining her. She was hysterical. She was a danger to herself and my father."

He pointed at the spilled tapes. "Those are private family recordings. Stolen property."

He looked at Elena. "You can leave. But the bag stays here."

"No," Elena said.

"Then we wait for the police," Julian said, crossing his arms. "And while we wait, maybe I should call the facility. Tell them their new patient is ready for pickup."

He was blocking the evidence. He was blocking Arthur.

Elena looked at Marcus. He gave a subtle nod. He was ready to fight if he had to.

But violence wouldn't win this. Julian had the law—or a version of it—on his side.

Elena needed something else.

She looked at Arthur. He had lowered the lamp. He was watching Julian with that same cold, calculating stare.

He lifted his hand. He pointed at the medical monitor on the nightstand. The one displaying his heart rate and blood pressure.

The numbers were spiking. *180/110.*

He wasn't just angry. He was in physical distress.

Or he was faking it.

Elena remembered the trick with the breath-holding. The way he could manipulate his own vitals.

He was giving them an out.

"Marcus," Elena said. "Look at the monitor."

Marcus glanced at the screen. His eyes widened. "Hypertensive crisis. He's stroking out."

Julian turned to look. "He's faking."

"His BP is 180 over 110," Marcus said, moving toward the bed. "Fake or not, if that goes any higher, he's dead. And if he dies while you're preventing medical care, that's manslaughter, Mr. Vance."

He looked at Julian, hard.

"Leave, Mr. Vance, or I call the paramedics. And this time, they won't just be local boys."

"The patient's BP is 180 over 110. Leave, Mr. Vance, or I call the paramedics."