Chapter 3 - THE BOTTLE
Michael Carter had built his empire by asking one question before making any decision.
Who benefits?
Now he asked it again.
Who wanted his son hurt?
The room suddenly felt smaller.
“Margaret.”
The nanny looked up.
“Yes?”
“Who made Noah’s bottle?”
Her face changed.
“I did.”
Michael stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Who was there?”
Margaret opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
That was enough.
Michael turned toward Frank.
“Lock this house down.”
Frank immediately grabbed his phone.
“Everyone stays where they are.”
The paramedics continued working.
But now the emergency had changed.
This wasn’t just a medical crisis.
It was a crime.
Emily picked up the bottle carefully.
“Don’t touch that.”
The lead paramedic looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because whatever caused this might still be inside.”
Michael looked at her.
“You knew.”
Emily lowered her eyes.
“I suspected.”
“Since when?”
She stayed quiet.
Michael stepped closer.
“Emily.”
Her hands trembled.
“Since I saw the bottle.”
“Why?”
She looked at the formula.
“Because Noah never reacted like this before.”
The paramedic frowned.
“You know his medical history?”
Emily nodded.
“I cleaned his room every morning.”
Michael almost laughed.
“You cleaned his room?”
Emily looked hurt.
“I paid attention.”
That sentence stayed in the air.
Because she was right.
Everyone else saw a billionaire’s baby.
Emily saw a child.
The lead medic examined the bottle.
“There may be contamination.”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“Find out.”
The medic looked at him.
“Sir, we need a hospital.”
“Then take him.”
They prepared Noah for transport.
As they lifted him, Emily suddenly grabbed Michael’s arm.
“Wait.”
Everyone stopped.
“What now?”
Emily looked terrified.
“The bottle isn’t the only problem.”
Michael froze.
“What do you mean?”
She pointed toward the crib.
“The blanket.”
The room went silent.
“The blanket?”
Emily nodded.
“Someone placed something on it.”
The paramedic looked confused.
“What?”
Emily whispered:
“A smell.”
Michael stared.
“What smell?”
Emily looked toward the nursery door.
“Lavender.”
Nobody understood.
Until Frank suddenly spoke.
“Mr. Carter…”
Michael turned.
Frank’s face was pale.
“What?”
Frank swallowed.
“That’s impossible.”
“Say it.”
Frank looked toward the hallway.
“Because nobody uses lavender in this house anymore.”
Michael’s eyes hardened.
“Why?”
Frank hesitated.
Then said:
May you like
“Because Noah’s mother died from a severe lavender-triggered allergy.”
The room went dead silent.
