Chapter 5 - STAND UP OR DIE
The gun pointed straight at Graham’s chest.
“You picked the wrong house,” Graham said.
The man smiled.
“You funded the right one.”
That hurt more than Graham wanted to admit.
Upstairs, something crashed.
Danny shouted Maya’s name.
The gunman glanced toward the stairs.
Graham moved.
Not fast.
Not gracefully.
But he moved.
He threw his weight sideways and slammed into a marble table.
A bronze statue toppled.
The gunman fired.
The shot hit the wall.
Graham fell.
His right knee exploded with pain.
The gunman turned back.
“You should’ve stayed in the chair.”
Graham reached for the statue.
Too far.
The man stepped closer.
Then a lamp smashed against his skull.
Ruth stood behind him.
“Get away from my employer.”
The gunman stumbled.
Graham grabbed the statue and swung.
It hit the man’s wrist.
The gun went off.
Ruth screamed.
The bullet buried itself in the floor.
Cal came down the stairs like a freight train and tackled the gunman.
They crashed through a side table.
Graham dragged himself toward the pistol.
His fingers closed around it.
“Cal!”
Cal rolled away.
Graham aimed.
The gunman froze.
“Don’t,” Graham said.
For the first time, the man looked nervous.
Security personnel rushed in through the rear hall.
Power returned.
Lights flashed on.
The man blinked.
Graham looked upstairs.
“Maya?”
“I’m okay!” she shouted.
“Rose?”
A beat.
Then Danny yelled, “She’s here!”
Graham exhaled.
Cal cuffed the intruder.
“Who else came in?”
The man laughed.
“You think this was about taking her tonight?”
Cal shoved him against the wall.
“What does that mean?”
The man looked at Graham.
“We wanted to see if it was real.”
Graham’s face hardened.
“You saw.”
“Oh, we saw.”
The man’s smile grew.
“So did half the internet.”
Cal checked his phone.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Cal held up the screen.
A video from the café.
Rose touching Graham’s knee.
Graham’s foot moving.
Already hundreds of thousands of views.
Then millions.
Comments racing underneath.
MIRACLE BABY?
FAKE.
WHO IS THE OLD MAN?
THAT’S BILLIONAIRE GRAHAM WHITMORE.
Graham felt sick.
Danny came downstairs carrying Rose.
Maya and Eli followed.
Rose looked pale.
Too pale.
Danny saw the video.
“No.”
Graham said, “We can take it down.”
“You can’t take down the internet!”
“I can bury stories.”
“This isn’t a story!”
Danny’s voice shook.
“It’s her life!”
Rose coughed.
A tiny dark spot appeared on the blanket.
Blood.
Claire Whitmore arrived twenty minutes later.
She entered the house carrying a medical bag and six years of unresolved anger.
She looked exactly like Graham remembered.
Same sharp green eyes as her mother.
Same way of looking at him like she had already found the flaw in his argument.
“What happened?”
Graham pointed toward Rose.
“Help her.”
Claire looked at the children.
Then at the armed men.
Then at the blood on the floor.
“Dad, what the hell did you do?”
“Not now.”
She knelt beside Rose.
Stethoscope.
Pulse.
Pupils.
Breathing.
Her face changed.
“When did this start?”
Danny answered.
“After she touched him.”
Claire looked at Graham.
“Touched you how?”
Graham slowly lifted his right foot.
Claire froze.
She knew his injury.
She had operated on him after the crash.
She knew exactly what was impossible.
“Do that again.”
He did.
Claire stared.
Then Rose’s body jerked.
Once.
Twice.
Her back arched.
“Seizure,” Claire snapped.
Danny panicked.
“Rose!”
Claire laid the baby on the couch.
“Move back.”
Rose convulsed.
Graham watched helplessly.
After fifteen terrifying seconds, she went limp.
Claire checked her pulse.
Then looked at Graham with horror.
“Her heart rate is dropping.”
Danny grabbed Claire’s sleeve.
“Save her.”
Claire opened her bag.
“I’m trying.”
Graham rolled closer.
“What does she need?”
Claire looked at her father.
“I don’t know.”
Then Rose opened her eyes.
May you like
And whispered a word no eight-month-old baby should have been able to say.
“Marcus.”
