She reached for the emergency call button by the wall, dead. She sprinted to the hallway phone. Dialed the nurse on record.
Straight to voicemail. She dialed Gregory’s number. For rings, then five, then nothing.
She tried again. And again. Still nothing.
She slammed the receiver down. Downstairs, the other maids were laughing about something near the pantry. Tasha burst into the hallway, breath quick, eyes wild.
I need someone, anyone to help. Vivian’s. We don’t go upstairs without clearance.
One interrupted, not even turning. She needs a hospital. Now.
The second waved her off, annoyed. We’ll inform the estate manager. That’s the process.
Process. Tasha’s fingers curled into fists. She turned on her heel, ran back upstairs.
Vivian was barely conscious now. Her chest rising too fast. Too shallow.
She looked at the hallway. Then at the far end, the locked office. Gregory’s private office.
She’d never been in there. But she had cleaned near it enough to notice something most wouldn’t. A tiny keyhole above the doorknob.
And the key. It always hung from the red tag beside the basement cleaning supplies. She remembered because the tag was labeled do not remove.
But she did. She ran downstairs, yanked a key from its hook. Nobody saw her.
She sprinted back. The door clicked open. The room was pure silence.
Leather, glass, and money. Framed awards. A wall safe.
A Tesla key fob on the polished desk. And next to it, a black clip. Fat with hundred dollar bills.
She hesitated. Not for long. Tasha scooped Vivian into her arms.
Arms trembling. Not from fear, but from the sheer effort of carrying a sick child half her size. She bolted down the hall.
Every corner of the mansion seemed to scream at her. The cameras. The blinking lights.
The invisible rules. She didn’t care. She pushed through the front door.
Cradling Vivian like glass. She reached the garage. The Tesla recognized the key instantly.
Door hissed open. The soft white seats lit up. She laid Vivian gently across the passenger side.
Belted her in. Whispered. Hold on.
Then she climbed in. Slammed the door shut. And hit the accelerator.
The tires squealed as the car pulled out of the estate. A moment later, back at the mansion. An alarm blared.
Security screens lit up red. Unauthorized access. Office breach.
Vehicle missing. Inside the car, Tasha’s fingers clutched the wheel. Her breath came short.
Vivian’s head leaned back. Her skin looked grayer now. The GPS blinked.
She ignored it. She knew the fastest hospital. Not the closest.
The best. Traffic blurred. Horns screamed.
Her heart pounded louder than the road beneath her. In her head. She repeated it like a prayer.
Hold on. Just hold on. Behind her, two black SUVs were already pulling out of the mansion.
Security had tracked the vehicle’s location. And she had no idea they were coming. The hospital entrance glowed sterile white as the Tesla screeched to a halt in the emergency lane.
Tasha didn’t wait for anyone to open the door. She leapt out. Flung it open.
Unbuckled Vivian. And carried her like she weighed nothing. Though every step felt like dragging a mountain uphill.
Help, she gasped as she burst through the sliding doors. Please, someone. She’s got sickle cell.
She can’t breathe. Nurses rushed toward her. A crash cart followed…
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