Chapter 2 - THE BLOOD ON THE MARBLE AND THE MAN IN THE BLACK SUIT
The air left my lungs in a sharp, helpless gasp as Vesper’s hands slammed against my shoulders.
I didn't even have time to reach for the handrail.
The world tilted violently sideways. My feet slipped off the polished edge of the top step, and suddenly I was falling.
Fifteen wooden stairs.
My shoulder smashed into the decorative wooden banister first with a sickening crack. Then my spine slammed into the third landing, tumbling me head over heels until my head cracked against the marble floor of the foyer.
CRACK.
Pain—hot, white, and suffocating—exploded through my ribs and right shoulder. I lay folded on my side, my legs twisted unnaturally beneath me, unable to inhale. Every tiny twitch of my diaphragm felt like a jagged knife dragging across my lungs.
Blood spilled from a deep gash above my left eyebrow, warm and sticky, pooling against the cold imported Italian tile.
High above me, standing at the top of the stairs, Vesper stared down, her breathing short and ragged.
Then came my father’s voice from the master bedroom doorway.
“What the hell was that noise?!” Evander shouted, marching toward the landing in his silk pajamas. He looked down, saw me motionless on the floor, and his face instantly hardened into absolute disdain.
“Stop faking it, Rowena! You asked for this!”
I tried to squeeze my eyes shut, but the pain was too sharp. “Dad...” I choked out, a thin trickle of blood bubbling at the corner of my lips. “Please... 911...”
He didn't move toward the stairs. He looked at the deep red stain spreading outward onto his three-thousand-dollar tile.
“Look what you've done to the floor.”
My mother appeared beside him. She took one look at my broken body, gasped, and immediately grabbed Vesper’s hands. “Oh, sweetheart! Did Rowena hurt you? Did she push you?”
“She went crazy when I asked about the money,” Vesper sobbed smoothly, pulling off an Oscar-worthy performance in half a second. “I barely touched her! She threw herself down!”
My mother rushed downstairs. She didn't come to check my pulse. She didn't hold my hand. She walked straight past my twisted legs, stepped over my left arm, and went into the kitchen.
She returned ten seconds later with a wet rag and a bottle of bleach.
She dropped to her knees beside my head and began frantically scrubbing the grout.
“Darien might come back tomorrow,” Kalista muttered under her breath, her eyes wide with frantic social anxiety. “We cannot have him seeing blood all over the house. Evander, help me wipe this up before it sets!”
Vesper walked down the stairs slowly, her silk robe trailing behind her. She crouched beside my ear, close enough that I could smell the expensive Chardonnay on her breath.
“Maybe you should just die,” she whispered, her voice laced with pure, dripping venom. “Then we could finally get your money.”
They didn't call an ambulance.
For forty-five agonizing minutes, my father went back to bed, my mother scrubbed tile, and my sister took a hot bath upstairs. They left me lying on the cold marble floor, expecting me to eventually drag myself to the basement like a wounded dog.
They had no idea that at 2:15 a.m., while I was lying there bleeding, my phone—resting inside my jacket pocket on the floor—vibrated quietly three times.
It was an automated notification from my secure cloud server:
DEPOSIT CONFIRMED: $2,500,000.00 USD (INITIAL LICENSING FEE - NEXUS HEALTHCARE SYSTEMS).ACQUISITION AGREEMENT FULLY EXECUTED.
My software had been bought. The contract was signed. I was officially a millionaire.
And my family was about to lose everything.
At 3:30 a.m., when the house went dark and silent, I used my good left arm to drag my broken body inch by inch across the foyer. It took me nearly an hour to reach the front door. I managed to reach the brass handle, unlock it, and crawl out onto the damp grass of the front lawn.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone with trembling fingers, and dialed 911 myself.
When the paramedics arrived six minutes later with sirens blaring, the flashing red lights illuminated our quiet suburban street. My father opened the front door in his robe, his face pale with fury as neighbors began opening their front blinds.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Evander demanded, stepping onto the porch. “She just fell down a few steps! She’s fine! Turn those lights off!”
A tall female paramedic blocked him with her arm, her face grim as she assessed my injuries. “Sir, step back. Your daughter has two fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a severe concussion, and internal bleeding. Who caused these injuries?”
I looked past the paramedic straight at my father’s face.
“My sister shoved me,” I said, my voice hoarse but crystal clear. “And my parents refused to call for help.”
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The paramedic looked at the police officer who had pulled up behind the ambulance. “Officer, you heard that. Get a statement before we transport.”
As the stretcher rolled me away into the night, I watched my mother standing in the doorway, wringing her hands in terror—not for my life, but for what the neighbors were going to say in the morning.
