Chapter 9 - THE HOUSE TURNS COLD
By noon, Cora’s face was everywhere.
LOCAL DOG CARETAKER ACCUSED OF ANIMAL CRUELTY.
THORNE FOUNDATION EMPLOYEE ARRESTED.
CHARITY WORKER HID DARK SECRET, SOURCES CLAIM.
Anonymous posts appeared online.
Former coworkers who barely remembered her gave comments.
A woman from a coffee shop said Cora had once seemed “angry.”
A former landlord said she had been “private.”
People built a monster out of adjectives.
Damian watched the coverage in silence.
Then threw the remote through the television.
Mrs. Bell stared at the shattered screen.
“I liked that television.”
“Buy another.”
“That is not the point.”
Damian paced.
His lawyer, Rachel Sloan, sat at the dining table.
“The evidence is strong.”
“It’s fake.”
“I know.”
“Then get her out.”
Rachel removed her glasses.
“Courts do not accept ‘my client’s employer says it’s fake.’”
“What do you need?”
“Time.”
Damian hated that word.
Nero remained at Dr. Hart’s clinic.
He survived.
Barely.
Testing revealed a cocktail of sedatives and stimulants.
Enough to trigger seizures.
But not enough to guarantee death.
Again.
Designed to injure.
Not kill.
The same pattern as two years earlier.
Cora sat in county jail wearing gray clothes that did not fit.
Her public defender met her first.
Damian’s private attorney arrived later.
Cora refused her at first.
“I can’t pay.”
“Mr. Thorne already did.”
“No.”
Rachel stared at her.
“You are facing felony charges.”
“I know.”
“This is not the time to argue about independence.”
Cora looked down.
“Fine.”
Rachel slid photos across the table.
Syringes.
Blood.
The shock device.
A notebook.
Cora frowned.
“That isn’t mine.”
Pages contained medication dosages.
Nero’s weight.
Times.
Notes describing how much sedative could be given without killing him.
Cora went cold.
“They copied my handwriting.”
Rachel looked closer.
“Are you sure?”
“I keep medical logs.”
“Where?”
“At the estate.”
“Who has access?”
“Too many people.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Who wants you gone?”
Cora laughed bitterly.
“How long do you have?”
Damian visited that evening.
The glass between them made him look even colder.
Cora picked up the phone.
“How is Nero?”
“He’s alive.”
“Eating?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
“Use the green ceramic bowl.”
“They did.”
“Warm the food.”
“They did.”
“Sit beside him.”
“Cora.”
“He won’t eat alone.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“He won’t eat because you aren’t there.”
Cora looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Walking into your gate.”
Damian stared.
“Don’t.”
“If I hadn’t—”
“Do not apologize for surviving something someone else planned.”
She looked at him.
He placed one hand against the glass.
“I will get you out.”
Cora almost smiled.
“Legally?”
He paused.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Legally.”
“Thank you.”
Back at the estate, Nero began refusing water too.
Dr. Hart grew worried.
Then at midnight, he stood.
Walked to the clinic door.
And scratched.
“He wants out,” she said.
Damian came.
Nero ignored him.
Scratched again.
Damian opened the door.
The dog walked into the rain.
Slowly.
Weakly.
Then headed toward the old kennels.
Damian followed.
Nero sniffed along the ground.
Past Cora’s quarters.
Past the service road.
Toward the abandoned maintenance buildings near the south fence.
Marcus joined them.
“Nero!”
The dog kept walking.
Then he stopped beside a rusted drainage pipe.
Started digging.
“What is he doing?” Marcus asked.
Damian crouched.
Nero clawed mud away.
Again.
Again.
Then his paw struck plastic.
Damian reached in.
Pulled out a waterproof bag.
Inside was a burner phone.
Three veterinary vials.
A hotel key card.
A flash drive.
And a photograph of Cora being led away in handcuffs.
Taken that morning.
Printed before noon.
Marcus stared.
“Jesus.”
Damian looked at Nero.
The dog sat beside the hole.
Then collapsed.
Dr. Hart ran forward.
Damian picked up the bag.
For the first time since Cora’s arrest, he smiled.
Not because he was happy.
Because someone had made a mistake.
May you like
They had hidden the evidence on his property.
And Nero remembered where.
