Chapter 6 - THE SILENCE OF THE STONE
Back at the retreat, the wind continued to howl across the pool terrace.
Diego was beginning to feel a prickle of dark, uncomfortable anxiety in his chest.
He reached down, grabbing Vivian’s wet sweater collar, and pulled her upper body off the flagstones. Her head lolled backward, her lips blue, her skin feeling as cold and slick as a marble statue.
"Hey!" Diego shook her roughly. "Vivian! Stop faking! Get up!"
Her arm fell back onto the stone with a dull, limp thud. The red light on her wrist bracelet continued to flash with relentless, hypnotic precision.
BLINK. BLINK. BLINK.
From inside the house, Brenna walked out through the slider, wrapping a wool shawl around her shoulders against the freezing air.
"Diego, what is taking so long?" Brenna snapped, looking down at her daughter-in-law with annoyance. "Did she sign it?"
"She collapsed," Diego said, his voice dropping its confident edge for the first time all night. "She’s not responding."
Brenna frowned, leaning down to look closely at Vivian's face. She saw the blue tint of her lips, the frost forming in her dark wet hair, and the utter absence of any visible breathing.
"Is she..." Brenna hesitated, her eyes flickering toward her son. "Diego, if she dies out here, her father will launch an investigation. The police—"
"It was an accident!" Diego cut her off aggressively, his voice rising in pitch as panic began to leach into his mind. "She walked out here herself! She slipped on the ice near the pool! We found her like this!"
"Then turn off that damn hose and pull her inside!" Brenna ordered sharply. "We need to dry her off before we call an ambulance! We have to make it look like she fell!"
Diego dropped Vivian’s collar, letting her head knock against the stone again, and rushed over to the wall valve, shutting off the water.
Together, Diego and Brenna grabbed Vivian under her arms and knees, dragging her soaking, limp body across the terrace, through the glass slider, and into the dark back hallway of the house.
Water trailed across the polished hardwood floor like a trail of melted ice.
They threw her onto the rug in front of the stone fireplace in the living room. Diego knelt beside her, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled a dry blanket off the couch and tossed it over her wet body.
"Vivian," Diego slapped her cheek lightly. "Vivian, wake up! Come on!"
Nothing happened.
Brenna stood over them, her sharp mind rapidly calculating scenarios. "If the baby dies, but she lives, we can still claim emotional distress and take temporary control of her estate while she recovers in a facility."
Diego looked up at his mother, a sick, hopeful expression appearing on his face. "Yes... yes, that’s right. A medical emergency. Postpartum psychosis or a severe fall. The doctors will back us up if we pay them."
He stood up, walking toward his desk near the window to retrieve his cell phone. "I’ll call my private doctor in Asheville first. We don't call nine-one-one until we control the narrative."
He reached for his phone on the desk.
Before his fingers could touch the glass screen, a deafening, thunderous sound shook the entire mountain retreat.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!
The heavy floorboards beneath their feet vibrated violently. The crystal glasses sitting on the bar rattled against each other, and the flames in the stone fireplace flickered wildly as a massive, hurricane-force downdraft slammed against the roof of the house.
Diego froze. He looked out the floor-to-ceiling glass wall facing the front lawn.
Blinding white searchlights cut through the dark pine forest, illuminating the frosted grass with the power of a thousand suns. A massive, twin-engine tactical transport helicopter was descending directly onto the retreat's private lawn, its heavy rotor blades tearing through the freezing air, blowing snow and pine needles into a blinding white storm.
"What the hell is that?!" Brenna shrieked, covering her ears against the deafening roar. "Who is that?!"
Diego stared through the window, his heart dropping into his stomach like a lead weight.
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Stenciled in bold, silver lettering along the dark blue fuselage of the descending helicopter was a symbol he recognized with absolute, soul-crushing terror:
STERLING GLOBAL CAPITAL.
