Mrs. Palmer looked at her daughter, her eyes wide with a mixture of hope and fear. "Did… did Miss Gonzales really say that?"
"Yes, she did," Celia confirmed.
A wave of relief washed over Mrs. Palmer. She wiped the remaining blood from Brock's face and turned to the butler. "Go and bring the medicine from the kitchen." In her panic, the previous bowl had been knocked over. As a precaution, she had been brewing two doses at a time.
Leroy, the butler, hesitated. "Madam, do you remember what Mr. Lance said?" he reminded her gently. "Today is the third day, just as he predicted. Don't you find it a bit too coincidental that the Patriarch would start vomiting blood tonight?"
The color drained from Mrs. Palmer's face.
Celia interjected, "It must be a coincidence! Mother, you can't let Lance's words get to you. The most important thing right now is to give Brock his medicine."
Mrs. Palmer's mind was in turmoil. She trusted Caitlin, but… why this? Why was the timing so perfect? Why did Brock have to vomit blood on this exact day?
She looked at Leroy. "Send someone to fetch Lance immediately."
"Right away, Madam," Leroy said, hurrying out of the room.
"Mother!" Celia cried out in frustration. "Freya said he would be fine after taking his medicine tonight! Why are you sending for that quack?"
Mrs. Palmer's eyes were red with unshed tears. "What if he isn't fine, Celia? What if he doesn't wake up tomorrow? We can't afford to take that risk!" If they brought Lance here now, there might still be a chance to save Brock. But if they gave him the medicine and he never woke up…

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