Chapter 70 The Muffin Trap

Chapter 70 The Muffin Trap
Alexander was halfway to work when he realized he had left a folder of shipment schedules on his kitchen table. He turned the car around, his mind already racing through the day’s tasks.
He opened the door to his new apartment, expecting to find his mother sitting by the window.
"Ma? I forgot my—"
The words died in his throat.
His mother was lying on the floor, her body small and motionless.
"Mom!" he screamed, dropping his keys and rushing to her side. He pressed two fingers to her neck. Her pulse was weak, a faint flutter against his skin, her breathing shallow. "No, no, no. Not now. Not when we just got here."
He scooped her up and ran to his car, tucking her into the backseat, and drove to the hospital while dialing Hilson with one hand and steering with the other.
"Hilson! It's my mother. Meet me at the ER. Now!"
By the time he arrived at the hospital, Hilson was already there. Doctors and nurses swarmed around them, rushing her into the emergency room. Alexander stayed behind the swinging doors, pacing and praying. 
An hour later, a doctor in blue scrubs stepped out. 
"She’s stable," the doctor said. "But Alexander, what happened? She hasn't had her medication in a while. Her system started to shut down."
Alexander felt a wave of guilt. "I... I lost my job. I didn't have the insurance anymore. I just started a new position, but I haven't been paid. I thought she could wait a few more days."
The doctor shook his head. "She can't wait even an hour. She was doing very well on the treatment, but without it, she is extremely fragile. She needs constant care. If she misses another dose, it could be deadly."

Isabella woke up feeling sick. She hadn't slept for a second. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the plastic-wrapped shapes in the back room and the blood on the concrete.
Beside her, Lorenzo groaned as he slowly sat up, clutching his head. He looked awful, with gray skin and bloodshot eyes.
"My head," he muttered. "It feels like someone hit me with a brick."
Isabella sat up, keeping her face perfectly blank. Inside, her heart was pounding against her ribs. "Maybe you drank too much wine last night, Lorenzo. You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillow."
Lorenzo narrowed his eyes, trying to remember the night, but the memory was blurry. He reached for his jacket and shoved his hand into the pocket, pulling out the ring of keys. He exhaled slowly, feeling that they were complete.
Isabella held her breath. She had put them back exactly where she found them.
"What the hell happened?" he muttered, standing up and stumbling slightly. He prepared for work in silence, his movements stiff. "I’m leaving. Don't leave the house."
That was the only thing he said to her.
He stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him, and Isabella waited until she heard his car engine fade into the distance.
"Now or never," she whispered.
She had no phone because Lorenzo had smashed it. She couldn't use the house line since she knew he recorded every word.
She was finally alone, so she grabbed the stolen metal key from her dresser drawer and held it tightly.
She put on a cloth mask to mask the smell and headed toward the back of the house. The hallway was empty. The guards were all at the front gate or patrolling the perimeter. She slid the key into the heavy lock of the secret room and stepped inside.
The smell of iron and chemicals was stronger today. She ignored the machetes and the dark stains on the floor. She headed straight for the filing cabinets in the corner.
She tore through folders, her fingers flying over papers, until she spotted a thick, yellow folder named Dorian Vane.
Isabella opened it, and her breath caught. It was all there—signed contracts between Lorenzo and Dorian, and bank records showing millions of dollars moving from the Damiano accounts into private offshore banks. But there was more.
She found a file labeled 'Memories.' She opened it and felt a sob rise in her throat. There were photos of Lorenzo and Bianca, draped over each other in dark bars, kissing in the back of cars, smiling like lovers.
"You snake," Isabella hissed. "You were using us both."
She kept digging and found a report on Kelan's murder. There was a direct order: Eliminate the witness. Make it look like an accident or a hit by a rival.
Isabella started to cry, tears soaking into her mask. Her father was walking into a trap. The merger wasn't a partnership; it was a slow-motion execution. Lorenzo was going to take everything and then kill them.
She grabbed the most crucial papers—the contracts, the bank statements, the photos, and the murder order. She tucked them under her arm and quietly slipped out of the room, locking the door behind her.
She ran to her bedroom and slammed the door, her hands trembling so badly she nearly dropped the files. She needed to get this to Alexander right away.
She buzzed the kitchen. "Send a maid up," she commanded.
When the girl arrived, Isabella forced a fake, bright smile. "I want to do something nice for a friend who helped me at the gala. I want you to bake a fresh batch of muffins. Blueberry. Make them look beautiful and put them in a gift box."
"Of course, ma'am," the maid said, looking surprised by Isabella’s sudden kindness.
An hour later, the box arrived. The muffins smelled sweet and warm. Isabella waited until the maid was gone, then she lifted the tray of muffins out of the box. She placed the thick stack of evidence at the bottom, lining it up with the cardboard. Then, she put the muffins back on top, arranging them so the papers were completely hidden.
She wrapped the box in fancy gold paper and tied it with a silk ribbon, making it look like a harmless gift.
She walked to the front door and called for one of the senior guards. "I need this delivered to this address," she said, handing him a slip of paper with the location Alexander had given her. "It’s a thank-you gift for a friend. It’s fresh, so don't let it sit in the car."
The guard took the box and sniffed the air. "Smells good, ma'am. I’ll take it right over."
Isabella stood by the window, watching the black SUV drive off. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass.
"Please, Alex," she whispered. "Look under the muffins."