The grandfather clock in the upstairs hallway struck two in the morning as heavy rain battered the windows of the Davis estate.
Inside the dimly lit master bedroom, Sarah adjusted the IV line connected to billionaire Harold Davis, her fingers trembling against the cold steel guardrail.
Harold lay motionless beneath thick down blankets, his breathing faint and raspy against the quiet hiss of the portable oxygen pump.
Sarah: Hang on, Mr. Davis. I am doing exactly what you told me to do.
She reached into her medical bag and retrieved a pair of stainless steel shears, kneeling beside the base of the heavy oak bedpost.
Carefully peeling back the hem of the mattress skirt, she lined up the edge of the blade against the reinforced bottom seam.
A floorboard creaked loudly out in the private gallery, followed by rapid, panicked footsteps on the hardwood floor.
The double oak doors slammed open, the brass handles crashing into the wainscoting with enough force to echo down the stairs.
Benson, the head butler, stood framed in the light of the corridor, his face pale and his hands shaking in horror.
Benson: Stop! Please, stop, Miss! What on earth are you doing to him?!
Sarah: Mr. Benson, please listen to me! It is not what you think!
Benson: Step away from that bed immediately! Security, get up here right now!
Victoria Davis swept past Benson into the room, her silk robe trailing across the carpet as her glare pinned Sarah to the floor.
Victoria: I knew it! I warned the probate board that bringing an outside caregiver into this mansion was a fatal mistake!
Sarah: Victoria, step back and let me explain what your father asked of me!
Victoria: Don't you dare touch him again! You are finished in this household!
Sarah held her ground by the foot of the bed, her thumb brushing against the hidden metal casing she had just uncovered beneath the fabric.
Across the room, the sound of estate security boots thundered up the staircase, leaving Sarah seconds before the door was locked against her forever.