The Million-Dollar Heart

Actually, Victoria was slumped in the back seat, her head down, furiously tapping away at her phone: "I told you, bringing Sophie
along was a surefire way to botch things up. Told you so."
Vivienne, who seemed to have some spare time on her hands lately, responded quickly: "Without Sophie, the plan was doomed
from the start."
"Don't think for a second that I don't know what you're up to."
Victoria let out an almost imperceptible hiss, thinking to herself that Vivienne was even better at mind games than she was, and
she was an Abernathy.
Shaking her head, she started furiously typing a defense: "Well, it's not like I had a choice, did I? You can't expect me to blow my
cover in front of Harrison now, can you? Sophie was the only smokescreen we had, or else, we wouldn't have been able to make
our getaway so early."
Vivienne replied, "Mind your words. Anyway, I've got another task for you."
"You're not seriously expecting me to nab Harrison's latest research, are you?" Victoria's grip on her phone tightened as she
sneakily glanced at Harrison.
The man was seated in the front, absorbed in something on his own device.
Noticing her gaze, he looked up, and the moment their eyes met, a surge of irritation flooded Victoria.
She glared at him before dropping her gaze back to her phone to continue typing: "That's a no-go. Harrison's as cunning as a
fox. He's only off his game because you've been pushing him too hard. I'd rather have a hundred arguments with Gavin than
deal with him."
Vivienne's text came through, tinged with an evident sense of amusement at Victoria's wariness towards Harrison.
But she wasn't actually expecting Victoria to undertake that mission: "You don't have to. Your task for the next few days is to
protect Gavin."
Victoria stared at her phone in disbelief for a solid ten minutes, half-convinced she had somehow time-traveled.
"Protect Gavin? Am I reading this right? Is my vision failing me?"

She rubbed her eyes and looked again. No, the message was clear.
What on earth was Vivienne thinking? Had she been body-snatched?
After a moment, she regained her composure and typed a rapid response: "Are you okay? Are you still Vivienne? If someone
has taken over Vivienne's body, just give me a heads-up so I can arrange a proper burial."
Vivienne replied, "...Are you wishing me dead?"
Victoria: "No... I mean, yes... Ugh, no, what I mean is, we're allies, and you're technically my cousin-in-law. If you've been body-
snatched, I, as a humanitarian, owe it to her to arrange a proper send-off." Vivienne: "...Thanks, I guess."
Victoria: "Don't mention it. But seriously, are you or are you not possessed?"
Vivienne: "...I'm not!"
Victoria: "If you're not possessed, then why on earth would you want me to protect Gavin? And with my limited skills, I should be
the one under his protection!" Vivienne: "Someone will be there to help you tomorrow!"
Victoria: "..."
That night.
The dense inkiness shrouded the night sky, leaving only a few night-shift officers half-asleep, while most people had already
called it a day.
The silence in the precinct's holding cells was almost eerie.
Except for the occasional snoring, Kipling was tossing and turning in his cell, unable to find sleep amid the noise from nearby
cells.
He had been locked up for over a day, and despite assurances that Gavin would bail him out, there had been no word. His wife's
pleas to Madeline had only been met with promises to "do her best." Restlessness turned into acute pain as Kipling curled up,
clutching his stomach in agony, "Help... someone, please..."
His cries of pain were drowned out by the snoring, sweat beading on his forehead as panic set in, "Anyone?! Help me! I've been
poisoned!"

His shouts, fueled by desperation, eventually caught the attention of a neighboring inmate, irritated by the disturbance, "What's
with all the noise? Want me to shut you up for good?!"
But Kipling was beyond anger. Realizing someone was finally listening, he rolled off the bed and dragged himself to the bars,
"Mate, please, I need help. It's my stomach... it's really bad." His pleas, growing fainter, sounded almost ghostly in the quiet of
the night.
The neighbor, now wide awake and alarmed, banged on the wall, "Hey! You okay?!"
Through the wall, he couldn't see the distress in Kipling's cell but hearing the continuous groans, he knew something was
seriously wrong.
Rushing to the door, he yelled, "Officers! We need help here! Someone's been poisoned!"
"What's all the racket?!"
"Poisoned? This isn't death row. How's that possible?!"
"Officers, please! Someone's really sick!"
The commotion woke others, and soon, a chorus of complaints and curiosity filled the air. The clamor finally drew the night
guards.
Two officers, batons in hand, approached with authoritative steps, their presence silencing the chatter.
"What's the meaning of this disturbance?" one of them barked.
The first to be woken pointed towards Kipling's cell, "Officer, this man, he says he's been poisoned. He's been complaining about
his stomach all night. Kept everyone awake." With the seriousness of the situation dawning on them, the officers sprang into
action, the night's monotony breaking for a crisis that was all too real.
The junior officer's expression
flickered uncomfortably at the
words, his gaze sweeping over

Kipling lying on the ground before he
interjected, "Poisoning? Here, in a
detention center? How could that even happen? You're taking his delirious mumbling for truth now?"
"That doesn't make sense, officer. How could mere sleep-talking cause such a commotion?" The man was skeptical. After all, if it
was just sleep-talking, why would the guy in the next cell respond to him?
He was only in for a DUI, locked up for a couple of days, but he certainly didn't want to witness a life slipping away right before
his eyes. "Look officer, you really should check it out. If something happens, none of us could bear the responsibility, right?"