Chapter 72 THE VIAL
THIRD PERSON’S POV.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the hotel. The building stood tall before them, as if pulled from the pages of a dream. From the outside, it looked less like a modern hotel and more like a palace, hidden behind high sandstone walls that glowed softly in the late afternoon sun. Palm trees framed the entrance, their long fronds swaying lazily in the dry desert air, casting dancing shadows on the stone pathway.
“Wow,” Trisha gasped, her eyes wide as she took in the view. “Is this our hotel?”
“Yes,” Karim chuckled lightly. His English carried a soft Moroccan accent, the vowels rounding gently, touched by the subtle rhythms of French and Arabic. “This is Palais Sultana, one of the most beautiful hotels in Marrakech.”
The cold evening air carried laughter as they strolled to the hotel entrance. “Everyone here looks so happy. So free,” Serena said, her gaze drawn to children playing in the garden across the street. “It’s like they don’t have any problems at all.”
“Madam Serena,” Karim said with a warm smile, “in Marrakech we do not dwell on problems. We have them, yes, but we do not let them weigh us down or influence how we live.” He waved his hand carelessly in the air, the gesture relaxed yet deliberate. “It is the weak who wallow in despair. To live — to truly live — one must have bravery. One must be willing to take risks.”
Trisha’s hands flew to clap together, tears welling up in her eyes. “That was so inspiring, Karim.” She pressed one hand to her chest as if to anchor the emotion.
Serena laughed softly, shaking her head. “You are such a drama queen,” she teased, turning to Karim. “But that… that was truly beautiful.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied with a quiet smile. “Shall we go into the hotel? The sooner you settle in, the sooner you can see the city.”
“Of course, let’s go in.” Serena stepped forward, leading the way, her heels clicking lightly against the stone.
“Good morning, Mr. Horace,” the secretary said as she slid off her chair, hurrying to take his bag. “I didn’t expect you to come in today, sir.” She nudged the office door open with a polite shove.
“Is Sarah in?” Horace asked, settling into his seat behind the large wooden desk.
“No, I don’t believe the CEO has come in this morning—”
“Interim,” he corrected, his voice clipped.
“Sir?”
“She’s the inter…” He shook his head impatiently. “You know what? Never mind. Just let me know when she gets to the office.”
“Of course, Mr. Horace,” she replied, turning to leave.
As soon as her hand touched the doorknob, Horace called out, “Jane, also find out how Sarah likes her coffee served.”
Jane nodded silently, exiting the room, though the cold edge in Horace’s voice when he uttered those words sent a shiver down her spine.
Horace watched her leave, a cunning smile creeping across his lips. The previous night, after being informed that Damian had once again survived their attacks, he had decided to alter his plans, to weaken Serena’s allies, one by one. Phase two of his plan had also been authorized, and he was eager to begin.
He drove out of Monterra, the city lights fading behind him, and headed toward Neveen. There, a friend of his, Dr. Thompson, owned a private botanical garden, a place of rare, exotic, and poisonous plants.
“Horace, I must admit I was surprised when you called to visit at this late hour,” Dr. Thompson said as they arrived at the entrance to the lab. Thompson himself was clad in a hazmat-style suit, every motion precise.
Horace held his oxygen mask loosely in one hand as he took several puffs from his cigar. Thompson’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp with caution.
“Put on your mask, and put out that smoke,” Thompson warned. “There’s a strict no-smoking policy in here.”
“Relax, Tom,” Horace said, taking one final draw before tossing the cigar to the floor and crushing it under his shoe. “I won’t harm your precious little plants.”
Inside, the lab door sealed with a soft hiss. Cold white lights bathed the room, illuminating rows of glass vials and steel instruments arranged with meticulous precision. Behind thick glass chambers, pale liquids and strange powders rested in labeled containers harmless to the eye, but lethal in the wrong hands. The faint smell of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the low hum of the ventilation system, a reminder that in this lab, even the air was carefully controlled.
“You were very specific about what you wanted. May I ask what it’s for?” Thompson asked, walking alongside Horace, his tone curious yet cautious.
“You may not,” Horace replied flatly.
Thompson cleared his throat repeatedly, attempting to hide the sting of Horace’s earlier insult. “We’re here,” he said finally, stopping beside a row of five-leaved plants. Their leaves were smooth and deep green, almost ordinary at first glance.
In front of the row sat a narrow glass compartment, neatly arranged with the plant’s processed forms — fine powders, dark extracts, and other distilled toxins taken carefully from the leaves.
“You just need to put a drop of this in the person’s drink, eight hours apart, three times over three days,” Thompson explained. “They’ll become so weak they’ll be little more than vegetables.” He held the small vial delicately between his fingers.
“That’s perfect,” Horace said, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.
“Horace, the components of this poison are very strict,” Thompson continued, his voice calm but deliberate. “Once you start, you must finish. Since your goal is not to kill this person, the timing is critical. Any misstep could make the antidote ineffective and in some cases, could result in death.”
“I understand,” Horace said, his patience thin, he didn’t like the tone of Thompson’s voice. “The money has been wired to you.” He finished, already making his way out.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Thompson said with a nod.
“For your sake, I hope this vial works as well as you claim,” Horace said, his voice stern. “Otherwise, it will very quickly stop being a pleasure doing business with me.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the garden. The warning had been received.
He drove back to Monterra in silence, his only companion in the back seat the tiny blue bottle of deadly poison, tucked neatly away and waiting for the perfect time to come into play.