CHAPTER 220: DESPERATE SEARCH

Mara sat in front of her screen, composed but distant. Around her, scientists and researchers from Brazil, Germany, India, Kenya, and the U.S. filled her monitor in pixelated grids. The virtual room buzzed with voices, each presenting theories, half-baked strategies, and data with more questions than answers.

"We believe the antibodies are mutating too fast to create a stable model," one voice said.

"We’ve considered synthetic sequencing, but the response rate is under 20%—we’ll need more samples," added another.

Mara nodded, scribbled something in her notebook, and leaned into the camera. Her tone was calm but steely.

"Then get more samples. Reach out to the cross-border labs. I’ll speak to the Board about temporary access to the donor genome vault. We can’t keep circling possibilities. Start the preliminary trials. I’ll handle the rest."

Silence fell.

Then, slowly, heads nodded.

The call ended a few minutes later. Everyone signed off, screen by screen, until Mara was left alone with her reflection staring back at her.

She leaned back in her chair, sighed, and rubbed her eyes. Just then—ding.

Rafa. "Hey, just checking in. You okay?"

Mara stared at the screen, unmoved. She didn’t feel okay. She didn’t feel anything except the pressure in her chest.

She typed: "I’m fine. In a meeting."

Sent. She didn’t expect a reply, but it came quickly. "I’m with Ethan. We’re working together to help my client."

Her fingers froze on the keyboard. She reread it.

Ethan. So that’s where he’s been. Silent. Uncharacteristically absent from her orbit.

A knot twisted in her stomach. She placed the phone down slowly and turned back to her notebook, but the words on the page were meaningless now.

She hadn’t seen Ethan in days. No calls. No surprise visits. No passive-aggressive texts. And now he was with Rafa?

Helping someone else? She swallowed hard. Who could this client be that will make both of them agree to work together?

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. She had more important things to worry about—like accelerated clinical trials, emergency authorizations, and a research team running tests to save Steve. Not Ethan’s wounded conscience or his latest redemption project.

Still...

She picked up the phone again. Opened the message. Read it once more. Then quietly turned it over, face down on her desk. And got back to work.

–

Los Vinania Courthouse – Late Afternoon

The courtroom wasn’t packed, but the air was thick with quiet tension.

Wooden pews stretched across the space, empty except for a few clerks and a bored-looking court officer standing near the doors. The ceiling fan whirred lazily overhead, cutting through the humidity but not the stress.

Ethan and Rafael stood before the bench, papers in hand.

A middle-aged judge with tired eyes and a sharp voice—Judge Rivas—sat high on the bench. She tapped the edge of her desk with a pen, clearly unimpressed by the unexpected motion.

"You want to move the court date up?" she asked, brows raised. "Most people try to delay proceedings, Mr. Hale."

Ethan cleared his throat. "Your Honor, this is a matter of urgency. The defendant—Maria-Isabel Williams Lewis—is critically ill. She’s been diagnosed with a degenerative condition and has less than a month to live."

Rivas blinked, then leaned forward slightly. "And you’re only presenting this now?"

Rafa stepped in calmly. "She was recently diagnosed, Your Honor. The medical file is attached to the motion. It was confirmed by a government-approved physician just yesterday."

He handed over the documents. Judge Rivas flipped through them, the soft shuffling of papers the only sound in the room.

"She’s accused of two counts of murder," the judge said without lifting her eyes. "That’s not something I take lightly."

"I understand that," Ethan said, his voice softer now. "But we’re not asking for leniency. We’re asking for a fair chance for her story to be heard while she still has time to tell it."

Judge Rivas finally looked up.

"And you believe there’s a story worth hearing?"

Ethan held her gaze. "Yes. I believe she was a victim before she ever picked up that knife."

A long silence.

Then: "Your motion is unusual. But I see no legal grounds to deny it."

Ethan and Rafa both exhaled, barely showing their relief.

"I’ll move the trial up," Rivas said, signing the document with a firm stroke. "Three days from now. 9 a.m. sharp. If you’re not ready, the trial proceeds anyway."

"Yes, Your Honor," Ethan and Rafa replied in unison.

The gavel struck.

Case rescheduled.

As they stepped away from the bench, Ethan felt the pressure build behind his ribs—three days. That was all they had.

"She gave you everything just now," Rafa muttered under his breath as they walked. "If she dies before the trial, this whole case collapses into speculation and public pity. She’ll go down as the girl who killed two men out of desperation."

Ethan’s jaw tightened. "Then we make damn sure she stays alive long enough to be heard."

They exited into the dusk.

–

The living room buzzed with unusual energy.

Steve stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his leather jacket with a smirk. "How do I look?"

"Like someone about to make terrible decisions," Stefan muttered, tossing Steve’s pill bottle back into the drawer after confirming he’d taken his meds. "Let’s go before your courage wears off."

Just as the two strutted toward the front door, looking like rebellious teenagers decades too late, Stanley and Stanford burst in.

They stopped in their tracks.

Stanley blinked, his brow arching. "Uh... what is this?"

Stanford tilted his head, "Is this a midlife crisis in 4K? Leather jackets? Really?"

Steve grinned. "Your brother here wants to live a little. He’s tired of being the designated adult in this house."

Stanford folded his arms. "Please don’t tell me you’re dragging him to a brothel."

"Well..." Steve said, raising his brows mischievously, "I’m still on my feet, and I’ve got a full bottle of energy supplements."

"I didn’t mean that kind of living!" Stanford laughed. "Club nights are our thing. You should’ve just come to the experts."

Stefan shook his head. "You two are the reason I never had a wild phase."

"But tonight," Steve cut in, "we’re going full Shepherd mode. No regrets."

Stefan suddenly glanced toward the door, his confident smirk faltering.

"What?" Stanley asked.

Stefan’s eyes narrowed. "Stef. If she walks in now, this entire mission dies before it takes off."

Everyone went still for a beat.

"Right," Stefan added, snapping back into motion. "Give me five minutes to change."

"Well, hurry," Steve said, checking his watch like it was defusing a bomb. Stefan grabbed a sticky note, scribbled something down. He stuck it on the fridge.

Stanford tossed his car keys up, caught them, and winked. "Gentlemen... let’s raise hell—before the sheriff gets home."

And just like that, the four Shepherd brothers—armed with leather jackets, questionable plans, and a dangerous lack of supervision—stormed out the door laughing, leaving behind an empty house...

... and a note Mara would definitely not be amused by.