Chapter 97: The Slow Unveiling of Truth

Violet's POV

After leaving school, Clifford took me to a nearby restaurant for a quick meal. I barely tasted the food, my thoughts drifting back to the manor.

When we returned, the butler approached, bowing slightly, his voice low and precise. "Mr. Gutierrez, Mrs. Gutierrez. Dr. Albert Sanchez has been waiting in the reception room for quite some time."

Dr. Albert Sanchez?

I froze for a heartbeat, instinctively glancing at Clifford.

He kept his hand wrapped around mine as we walked inside. "I arranged it. He's your father's attending physician. Also one of the leading experts in toxicology and neural recovery."

My chest tightened, as though an invisible hand had gripped my heart.

"Is it… my father?"

Clifford's grip on my hand firmed, his thumb brushing slowly over my skin, grounding me. "Don't jump to conclusions."

But his reassurance didn't stop the dread curling in my stomach.

We stepped into the reception room. Albert rose immediately. "Mr. Gutierrez. Mrs. Gutierrez."

"Dr. Sanchez, has something happened to my father?" I cut straight to the point.

He shook his head. "Please, don't be overly alarmed. Mr. Chambers' vital signs are stable. I came urgently because, after repeated testing and analysis, our team has finally identified the cause of his prolonged coma—a rare synthetic biotoxin."

He opened a thick folder, tapping a highlighted section in the report. "It's called Umbra."

"What did you say?" Clifford's voice was sharp, sudden.

I turned to him. His brow was drawn tight, and in the depths of his usually unreadable eyes, a flash of cold intensity flickered—so brief it could have been imagined.

"Clifford… what is it? Is there a problem?"

He smoothed his tone, patting my hand. "Nothing. It's just… Umbra is insidious. It doesn't directly damage tissue, but it clings to specific neurotransmitter receptors like a shadow, especially those controlling consciousness and voluntary movement. The result is deep coma or a state resembling a vegetative condition."

Albert nodded. "Exactly. Standard diagnostics almost never catch it. I've only seen it once before. After that, it was strictly controlled—nearly impossible to obtain, even on the black market."

"Now that we know," Clifford cut in, "focus every resource on developing an antidote for Umbra. Spare no expense."

"Understood, Mr. Gutierrez."

"And this stays between you and your core team. No one else hears about it."

"Yes."

Albert departed quickly.

I studied Clifford's still-serious expression. "You know more about this toxin than you're telling me, don't you?"

"I've heard of it. That's all. Don't dwell on it." He ruffled my hair gently. "I have matters to deal with. Go see your father."

"All right."

Clifford's POV

I watched Violet walk toward her father's room. The warmth in my expression faded, replaced by something colder, heavier. I pulled out my phone and dialed. "Clinton. My study. Now."

By the time I stepped inside, he was already knocking at the door. His sharp eyes caught the tension in the air. "Boss, what happened?"

"Find out everything—every movement—related to Umbra coming from the old estate."

"Umbra?!" Clinton's face shifted instantly to shock. He stepped forward, voice dropping, edged with disbelief. "Isn't that what they used to frame you—"

My gaze cut to him, cold as steel.

He shut his mouth.

"Umbra was developed by my father. After what happened, it was pulled from circulation and locked down. And now it's in Violet's father's system."

Clinton's pupils narrowed. "Mr. Chambers was taken by Lucas. If the toxin came from the old estate… you think Lucas had ties to your father?"

"Not Lucas."

"Then who?"

"Goli."

I pressed my fingers to my temple. "No proof yet. But my gut says Goli's involved."

Violet once told me her first meeting with Goli was at that private clinic. Why would he be there unless he was meeting Lucas? I'd bet my life Lucas was Goli's man.

"But Lucas is dead. No testimony left. How do we proceed?"

"Go to Lucas's parents. Anyone who hears whispers will worry about what Lucas might have left behind—or what we might have uncovered. Fear makes people careless. Put someone on them."

"Understood."

Clinton left. I crossed to a cabinet fitted with a hidden compartment and triggered the mechanism.

Inside lay an unmarked, encrypted satellite phone.

I dialed a number I knew by heart.

It rang once before being answered. No words from the other end.

I waited two seconds, then spoke in code only they would understand. "Watch Clinton. Any non-mission contact or communications—especially anomalies outside encrypted channels—report directly to me."

Ever since the last shipment was intercepted, I've suspected someone had gotten to Clinton. Not betrayal. Manipulation. Someone trying to use him to watch me.

So I just sat back to see who'd be the first to fall.