With the last of her strength, Kira raised her hand, trying to attract attention. Her hand trembled, barely rising above the ground, but she tried as hard as she could.
A black SUV slowed down, drove a few more meters, and stopped. Kira heard the door slam, heard quick footsteps approaching her. A man’s voice, anxious and sharp:
“God, what is happening here? Ma’am, are you alive?”
Kira tried to answer but could only groan. She opened her eyes and saw the face of a man in his early forties leaning over her. The features were familiar. Very familiar. She tried to focus her gaze and suddenly recognized him.
Gordey Savitsky. Her business competitor. The owner of a network of private clinics and medical centers who had been trying to enter the market of care homes for the elderly for the last two years. They met at professional conferences, discussed the possibility of cooperation several times, but it never came to real projects. Kira had always considered him a decent person, albeit a tough competitor.
“Kira?” Gordey recognized her and squatted beside her. “Kira Lavrentieva? What’s wrong with you? What happened?”
“Poisoned…” was all Kira could squeeze out. She tried to speak again, but only a wheeze escaped her throat.
Gordey gently supported her head, listened to her breathing, checked her pulse. His face became serious.
“You need urgent medical help. I’m taking you to the clinic now.”
He lifted her into his arms. Kira was light, almost weightless in his embrace. He quickly carried her to the car, sat her in the back seat, covered her with his jacket, and fastened the seatbelt. He got behind the wheel and drove off abruptly.
“Hang on, Kira. We’ll be there in twenty minutes. My clinic. They’ll help you there.”
Kira nodded, though the movement caused a fresh wave of pain. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on breathing. Every breath was a small victory. Gordey drove fast but carefully, slowing down on turns so as not to cause her additional suffering.
“Who did this to you?” he asked without taking his eyes off the road. “Do you remember?”
Kira opened her eyes and whispered one word:
“Husband.”
Gordey turned sharply, then looked back at the road. His jaw clenched.
“Understood. Don’t speak anymore. The main thing now is to save your life.”
He took out his phone, dialed a number, and put it on speaker.
“Mom, it’s me. I need your help urgently. I’m coming to your clinic. Poisoning. Patient in critical condition. Prepare everything necessary for toxicological analysis and antidote therapy. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Understood, son,” a calm female voice replied. “I’m waiting.”
Anfisa Savitskaya. Gordey’s mother. Kira had heard of her: a famous toxicologist who had worked in medicine for over forty years. If anyone could help, it was her.
The SUV flew through the night city, slipping through yellow lights, overtaking rare cars. Gordey periodically glanced in the rearview mirror, checking Kira’s condition. She was holding on, though her strength was fading by the minute.
Finally, they pulled up to a low modern building with a sign “Dr. Rudnitsky’s Clinic.” Gordey jumped out of the car, threw open the back door, and picked Kira up again. A woman in a white coat, grey-haired, with penetrating eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses, was already waiting for them at the entrance. Anfisa Savitskaya.
“To toxicology,” she said briefly. “Evgeny is already preparing the IVs.”
They went down the corridor into a small ward where there was a couch, medical equipment, and a table with instruments. A tall man in a coat, apparently Evgeny Rudnitsky, the clinic director, was preparing the system for an IV.
Gordey carefully laid Kira on the couch. Anfisa immediately set to work: measured pressure, temperature, examined pupils, listened to lungs and heart.
“Classic signs of neurotoxin poisoning,” she said. “We need an urgent blood test and stomach pumping. Gordey, help me.”
The next half hour was like a nightmare. Kira kept losing consciousness and regaining it. She felt a needle being inserted into her arm, coolness from the medicine spreading through her veins, her stomach turning inside out during the pumping. Anfisa worked quickly and precisely, giving commands to Evgeny and Gordey. No one asked unnecessary questions. Everyone understood: minutes mattered.
An hour later, Anfisa straightened up and took off her gloves.
“The worst is behind us. The antidote has started to work. The blood test showed the presence of a thiophosphate compound. It’s a poison used in agriculture against pests. A lethal dose. If you had brought her ten minutes later, we wouldn’t have been able to help her.”
Gordey exhaled and ran a hand over his face.
“Will she be okay?”
“Yes. But it will take time to recover. At least a week of intensive therapy. And complete isolation. No visitors, no calls. Especially from her husband. He shouldn’t know she’s here.”
Gordey looked at Kira, who lay with her eyes closed, connected to an IV.
“I’ll take care of that.”
Evgeny Rudnitsky nodded.
“We won’t enter her into the patient database. Officially, she isn’t here. I take responsibility.”
Anfisa sat down next to Kira and took her hand.
“Can you hear me, girl? You are safe. We saved you. You just need to rest and gather strength.”
Kira squeezed her fingers weakly in response. Tears flowed down her cheeks again, but now they were tears of relief, not fear.
Gordey went out into the corridor, took out his phone, and called his assistant.
“Igor, I need information. Pavel Lavrentiev, Kira Lavrentieva’s husband. Everything you can find: financial status, connections, movements over the last week. Dig deep. And quietly. No one should know we’re interested in this person.”
“Got it, boss. How much time?”
“By tomorrow evening. It’s urgent.”
Gordey hung up and returned to the ward. Kira was already asleep; her breathing was even, though her face remained pale. Anfisa was checking indicators on the monitor.
“She’s strong,” she said quietly. “She’ll make it.”
“Mom, I’ll take her to my place when she can move. I have a guest room. She’ll be safe there.”
“Good. But not earlier than in three days. She needs constant medical observation.”
Gordey nodded. He looked at the sleeping Kira and thought about what kind of monster one had to be to do such a thing to one’s wife. He knew Kira as a smart, decent businesswoman who worked honestly and built her business herself. They competed, but always with respect for each other. And now she almost died at the hand of a person she trusted.
And Pavel? Pavel was probably sitting at home right now celebrating his victory. Thinking everything went smoothly. That his wife was dead and soon he would receive the inheritance.
“That scumbag made a mistake,” Gordey whispered. “We’ll bring him to light. I promise.”
Meanwhile, Pavel was indeed sitting at home, having already drunk a second portion of whiskey. His phone vibrated. Another message from Olga: “Can’t wait until we’re together. You’re my hero.”
He grinned and typed back: “Be patient a little longer, honey. Very soon everything will change. Get ready for a new life.”
Olga sent a whole scatter of hearts and kisses. Pavel lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes. The plan worked perfectly. No witnesses, no evidence. The drug would dissolve in the body without a trace, if anyone even thought to do an analysis. Most likely, they’ll think it was a heart attack or acute allergy…
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