Chapter 4 - THE CRAMPED APARTMENT IN QUEENS
Ten minutes later, a fleet of three black armored SUVs tore through the midtown tunnel, sirens wailing as corporate security cleared a path toward the working-class streets of Astoria, Queens.
Adrian pushed open the rusted exterior gate of a dilapidated four-story brick walk-up. He carried Lucy on his left arm, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck with her stuffed rabbit pressed against his lapel, while his right hand held Abby securely against his chest. His expensive leather shoes slammed against the cracked linoleum steps as he took them three at a time, his security team scrambling to keep up behind him.
They reached the third floor. The narrow hallway smelled of damp plaster, old radiator heat, and cheap bleach.
The door to Apartment 3B was unlocked, resting half-an-inch ajar.
Adrian kicked the door open with his boot, stepping into a cramped, dim living room. The wallpaper was peeling at the corners, the furniture consisted of a single worn sofa covered in a faded sheet, and a small space heater hummed loudly in the corner.
In the tiny kitchenette, the refrigerator door swung half-open. Inside, the shelves were utterly bare—save for a single jar of tap water and a half-empty carton of expired milk.
"Call 911!" Adrian roared over his shoulder at his head of security. "Get a private trauma unit here right now!"
He moved swiftly down the narrow hallway into the single rear bedroom.
On the cold, uncarpeted floorboards beside a low mattress, Clara Monroe lay motionless. She was thin—devastatingly thin—her dark hair spilled across the floorboards, her face pale and sunken. A pair of city paramedics, who had just arrived through the fire escape response, were already kneeling beside her, placing an oxygen mask over her face and checking her thready, faint pulse.
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As Adrian dropped to his knees beside the mattress, his boot kicked something resting beneath the frame.
It was a thick, dust-covered manila envelope, resting halfway under the bed skirt, with his own full name written across the front in Clara’s unmistakable, elegant handwriting: Adrian Walker.
