All Chapters of A Night In Daddy's Bed: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

RUBY'S POVThe video came in just as I was stepping out of the shower, water still dripping down my back, my hair soaking the collar of the robe I had barely tied properly. My phone buzzed once on the nightstand, then again, more insistent this time. But something in my chest tightened before I even unlocked the screen, a quiet, creeping dread that had become far too familiar these days.When I tapped the notification, the video opened immediately.Grainy. Poor lighting. Shot from an angle that felt intentional—hidden, almost.I frowned, leaning closer, my fingers tightening around the phone as shapes began to form into people. Voices murmured in the background, distorted, but not enough to completely hide the tone. Female. Several of them.And then I saw Diane.My breath caught halfway in my throat, turning into something sharp and painful as I instinctively lowered myself onto the edge of the bed, my knees suddenly weak.She was standing among a group of women, dressed elegantly a

HARRISON'S POVI leaned back slightly, flipping through the stack of files in front of me, but my focus wasn’t on the numbers or signatures. It kept drifting. Back to the voicemail. Back to Diane’s voice. Back to Richard.We move her too.My jaw tightened.The paper in my hand crinkled slightly before I forced my grip to loosen. Losing control—even in something as small as that—wasn’t an option.A knock came at the door.“Come in,” I said without looking up.The door opened and Miriam stepped in, balancing a stack of files against her chest like she always did.Miriam had been with the company longer than most of the board members I had just threatened. Mid-fifties, sharp eyes, and a mouth that never quite knew when to stop—but she was efficient, loyal in her own way, and annoyingly perceptive.“You’ve finally decided to show your face again,” she said as she walked in, closing the door behind her with her hip.I allowed a faint smile to touch my lips. “Good morning to you too, Miriam

HARRISON'S POV I closed the encyclopaedia I was reading on chloroform and slid it back onto the shelf, my fingers lingering on the spine for a moment as my thoughts refused to settle. Then I scribbled a quick note to myself. Why would Bobby have chloroform on his clothes? It made no sense. What possible reason could he have for carrying something like that—an industrial solvent, an anaesthetic? I vaguely recalled that chloroform was sometimes used in cough medicines or anti-itch creams, but never in quantities strong enough to leave that unmistakable, heavy, chemical scent.Bobby had said he worked as a courier. Perhaps he delivered industrial supplies—solvents, chemicals, something along those lines. It was the only explanation that came close to reasonable. I decided I would ask him directly at our next session—assuming, of course, that Major Tom was still in contact with ground control by then.A dull banging echoed up from the basement, dragging me from my thoughts. D.J. and his

HARRISON'S POV The blue manila folder lay on the desk in front of me, its ribbon fastened through a flat circular wheel that sealed it shut. I found myself undoing it, then fastening it again, over and over, as though the small, repetitive motion might steady my thoughts.Meena slipped into the office, glancing nervously over her shoulder before closing the door behind her. She crossed the room quickly, lowering her voice to a whisper as she approached my desk.“There’s a very scary-looking man in the waiting room,” she said. “He’s asking for you.”“That’s all right, Meena. He’s a detective.”Her eyes widened instantly. “Oh! He didn’t say. He just sort of…”“Growled?” I suggested.She nodded emphatically. “Yes.”“You can show him in.” I gestured for her to lean closer. “In about five minutes, I want you to buzz me and remind me of an important meeting outside the office.”She frowned. “What meeting?”“Just an important meeting.”The answer clearly didn’t satisfy her, but she nodded a

HARRISON'S POV My head had been pounding, my throat raw and scratchy in a way that made it difficult to decide whether I was dealing with a hangover or the early stages of the flu. According to the newspapers, half the country had already succumbed to some exotic virus imported from Beijing or Bogotá—one of those far-flung places people rarely left without bringing back something virulent.The only real consolation was that I hadn’t experienced any noticeable side effects from the Selegiline, aside from the insomnia which, frankly, had already been part of my life long before the medication. Unfortunately, the drug hadn’t improved my symptoms either.At seven that morning, I called Jock.“How do you know it isn’t working?” he asked, his irritation obvious at being dragged out of sleep.“I don’t feel any different,” I replied.“That’s the point,” he said. “It’s not meant to make the symptoms disappear, it’s meant to stop them getting worse.”“Right,” I muttered.“Just be patient and r