Lawson locked the estate down within six minutes.
Nobody entered.
Nobody left.
Every employee's phone was temporarily collected and checked.
Prescott doubled the guards on the children's wing and stationed two more outside Mara's room.
Mara hated every second of it.
“I am not a prisoner.”
“No,” Lawson said. “Prisoners get fewer guards.”
“This isn't funny.”
“I wasn't joking.”
She stood in the center of his office wearing borrowed sweatpants and one of Odette's sweaters, furious in a way that almost reminded him of Genevieve.
“You can't keep me inside forever.”
“I need to keep you alive for several days.”
“How comforting.”
“Crosby Vane offered five million dollars.”
“For what?”
“He didn't say.”
Mara's face paled.
“He didn't need to.”
Lawson watched her.
“You understand now.”
“I understood when you put three armed men outside the bathroom.”
“Two.”
“There were three.”
“The third was in the hallway.”
“That is not better.”
Lawson poured coffee.
Mara crossed her arms.
“Why would someone pay that much?”
“Because harming you harms me.”
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“And you live like this?”
“Yes.”
“Genevieve really understated things.”
That hurt.
Lawson looked away.
Mara immediately regretted the comment.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
“I shouldn't have—”
“Genevieve knew exactly what I was.”
Mara sat down.
“Maybe. But the children didn't choose any of this.”
That sentence landed differently.
Lawson placed the coffee down.
“No. They didn't.”
Prescott entered without knocking.
“We traced the leak.”
Lawson stood.
“Who?”
“Not from inside the estate.”
Mara looked between them.
“Then where?”
“The transplant registry.”
Prescott placed a folder on the desk.
“When Genevieve first contacted specialists years ago, Mara's donor registration was flagged in a private family inquiry. Somebody accessed that historical file yesterday after Mara's name appeared in Odette's email search.”
“Who?”
“Contractor named Evan Rusk.”
Lawson knew the name.
“Vane uses him.”
“Yes.”
Mara's face changed.
“So Crosby knew I might match before I did.”
“Looks that way.”
Lawson felt something cold settle into place inside him.
The man he had been before his children became sick began waking up.
“I want Rusk.”
Prescott nodded.
Mara stood.
“No.”
Both men looked at her.
“No what?” Lawson asked.
“No whatever that look means.”
“You don't know what my look means.”
“I absolutely do.”
Prescott coughed to hide a smile.
Mara pointed toward the children's wing.
“You have two kids preparing for transplant. They need their father.”
“They also need protection.”
“They need you not to start a war.”
“This war started years ago.”
“Then maybe stop letting Crosby decide what kind of man you become.”
Lawson stared at her.
Nobody spoke to him this way except Genevieve.
It was becoming irritatingly clear that the trait might be genetic.
Before he could respond, Dr. Feld entered with urgent news.
Mara had passed the remaining donor health screenings.
Collection could begin.
For both twins.
Lawson forgot Crosby for exactly three seconds.
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“And the children?”
“We begin their reduced-intensity preparation tonight.”
Mara's anger disappeared.
“Is it dangerous?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Feld did not soften the answer.
“They're already extremely vulnerable. But without intervention, the prognosis remains what Dr. Yates told you.”
Ten days.
Everyone heard the unspoken words.
Lawson nodded.
“Do it.”
That evening, the twins became frightened.
Blythe cried when a nurse brought new medications.
Jonah became angry.
He shoved a plastic cup off the tray.
“I don't want any more.”
Lawson crouched beside him.
“You have to.”
“No!”
“Jonah.”
“I hate doctors!”
Dr. Yates, standing behind Lawson, quietly said, “Fair.”
Jonah crossed his arms.
“I hate needles.”
“Also fair,” Yates said.
“I hate this house.”
That one hurt Lawson.
Before he could answer, Mara entered carrying an old portable speaker.
“Good,” she said.
Everyone looked at her.
Jonah blinked.
“Good?”
“This room is terrible.”
Lawson frowned.
Mara ignored him.
She plugged in the speaker.
Music filled the bedroom.
Not loud.
An old Motown song Genevieve used to play while cooking.
Lawson's chest tightened immediately.
Mara extended a hand to Blythe.
“Dance?”
“I can't.”
“Neither can I.”
“You're standing.”
“Standing and dancing are completely different skills.”
Blythe looked interested.
Mara helped her sit at the edge of the bed.
Then she began an intentionally ridiculous little dance.
Jonah laughed.
Mara pointed toward him.
“You think that's funny?”
“Yes.”
“Your turn.”
“I can't stand.”
“Who said dancing requires standing?”
Within minutes, Jonah was moving his arms from bed while Blythe kicked her feet beneath the blankets.
Mara spun once.
Odette brought a white apron from downstairs and tied it dramatically around her waist.
“What is that?” Lawson asked.
“Uniform.”
“For what?”
“Professional embarrassment.”
The twins laughed again.
Lawson leaned against the doorway.
For several minutes, he did not move.
That was the moment captured forever in his memory.
Mara dancing badly in the warm bedroom light.
Jonah clapping.
Blythe smiling.
The crystal chandelier glowing above them.
For the first time in months, the room did not look like a place where children were dying.
It looked like home.
Mara eventually noticed Lawson.
She slowed.
“Are you going to stand there judging?”
“Yes.”
“Coward.”
Jonah gasped.
“You called Dad a coward.”
“He won't dance.”
Jonah looked at Lawson.
“Dance.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“Absolutely not.”
Blythe joined in.
“Daddy.”
Lawson stared at three faces.
“Traitors.”
He walked into the room.
His dancing was considerably worse than Mara's.
The twins laughed so hard Dr. Yates eventually warned them to conserve energy.
That night, after they slept, Lawson found Mara on the balcony.
“You did something today I couldn't.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Made them forget.”
“Only for five minutes.”
“Five minutes matters now.”
Mara lowered her gaze.
“Genevieve used to say that.”
“What?”
“That small good things still count even when something terrible is happening.”
Lawson leaned against the railing.
For a while, they watched Chicago glitter beyond the walls.
Then Mara spoke.
“Crosby offered me money.”
Lawson became perfectly still.
“When?”
“My old email account. I checked it before security took my phone.”
“How much?”
“Five million.”
“To leave?”
“To disappear before collection.”
Lawson's expression became deadly.
“What did you answer?”
Mara looked almost offended.
“Nothing.”
“You should have told me.”
“I am telling you.”
“Immediately.”
“I'm not one of your employees.”
“No. You're the person standing between my children and death.”
Mara's expression softened.
“I know.”
Lawson stepped closer.
“Five million dollars could change your life.”
“Yes.”
“You have no home.”
“I know.”
“No job.”
“I know.”
“You still refused.”
Mara looked through the glass doors toward the sleeping twins.
“Some things shouldn't have a price.”
Lawson had spent his entire adult life believing everything did.
Before he could answer, the mansion lights went out.
Completely.
The balcony went black.
A second later, emergency lights should have activated.
They didn't.
Prescott's voice exploded through Lawson's earpiece.
“Security breach. East perimeter.”
Gunfire cracked somewhere below.
Lawson grabbed Mara and pulled her behind the stone wall.
“What is happening?”
“Crosby.”
Then he heard the sound that made every other thought disappear.
A child screamed from inside the mansion.
“Daddy!”
Blythe.
Lawson ran toward the darkness.
---