Chapter 4 - A Mother's Vengeance
The two men moved with military precision, but their eyes widened when they saw the empty bed, the blankets pulled back, the IV line dripping harmlessly onto the floor.
"She’s not in the bed," the first guard hissed into his radio. "Search the—"
He never finished the sentence.
Lena, acting on pure, desperate adrenaline, lunged from behind the bathroom door and drove a heavy metal fire extinguisher directly into the side of his knee.
The joint gave way with a sickening *crack*, and the man collapsed to the ground with a muffled howl of agony, dropping his weapon.
The second guard reacted instantly, swinging his suppressed pistol toward Lena's head.
"Don't move, bitch!" he snarled.
From behind the wardrobe, I struck.
I didn't think about the fire burning across my back, or the agony threatening to blind me. I moved with the cold, calculated efficiency I had studied in personal defense courses years ago. I lunged forward, driving the sharp, heavy surgical scissors directly into the nerve cluster between the second guard’s neck and collarbone.
The steel sank deep.
The guard screamed, a wet, choked sound, his pistol falling from his numb fingers and clattering against the linoleum. He spun around, slamming his elbow into my chest.
The impact hurled me against the concrete wall.
My burned back took the brunt of the collision. The sheer, unfathomable agony ripped through my nervous system like a bolt of lightning. My knees buckled, and I crashed to the floor, gasping for air, black spots dancing across my vision.
The wounded guard, blood soaking his tactical vest, reached down with his left hand to draw a secondary knife from his boot. His face was twisted in homicidal rage. "You dead bitch—"
*BANG! BANG!*
Two deafening gunshots echoed through the small room, shaking the air.
The guard’s body jerked violently twice before he collapsed facedown onto the floor, motionless.
Detective Vance stood in the doorway, his service weapon drawn, smoke drifting from the barrel. Behind him were three uniform officers with rifles raised.
"Clear!" Vance roared, sweeping his weapon across the room before rushing over to where I lay curled on the floor. He dropped to one knee, holstering his gun, his hands hovering over me, terrified of touching my burned flesh. "Clara! Hold on! Ramos, get medical staff in here right now! The security team on this floor was compromised!"
"Daniel..." I choked out, blood on my lip from where I had bitten down against the pain. "Daniel sent them. His mother's brother... owns the security firm."
Vance’s face darkened with absolute fury. "I know. We intercepted a communication from Daniel’s burner phone two minutes ago. He didn't just send them to silence you, Clara."
Lena was already at my side, applying pressure to my torn stitches with sterile gauze. "What do you mean, Detective? What else did he do?"
Vance looked at me, his jaw clenched tight. "Daniel cut his ankle monitor ten minutes ago. He used an emergency stairwell to exit his building. His mother was seen leaving with him in a black SUV."
"Where are they going?" Lena asked, her voice trembling.
"They aren't running to the airport," I whispered, pushing past the pain, my legal mind assembling the pieces of Daniel’s psychological puzzle. "Daniel is a narcissist. He can't leave without the trophy. He thinks the original transfer deeds—the ones he needs to claim my father's offshore estate—are hidden in the safe at our family lake house in Pine Crest."
Vance narrowed his eyes. "Are they?"
"No," I whispered, forcing a cold, bloody smile. "The safe at the lake house doesn't contain deeds. It contains every recording, every journal, every financial statement, and every photograph of the abuse he’s inflicted on me for three years."
"Then why would he go there?" Vance asked.
"Because," I said, looking Vance dead in the eye, "I made sure his mother found a fake handwritten note in my jewelry box three weeks ago, telling my lawyer that the genuine power of attorney was locked inside that specific safe."
Vance stared at me, realization slowly dawning on his face. "You baited him. You knew this was coming."
"I knew that if he ever realized he was ruined, he would try to destroy the evidence and take what he believed was his," I replied, grabbing Vance’s coat sleeve. "You won't catch him on the highway, Detective. He knows the back roads through the mountain pass. But I know the layout of that house. And I know the code that locks the master security gates."
"You are in no condition to leave this hospital, Clara!" Lena cried, her eyes wide with shock. "You're bleeding! Your burns could get infected! You need emergency surgery to repair the tissue!"
"If Daniel gets to that safe and burns that house down, his high-priced lawyers will claim reasonable doubt on the financial fraud charges," I insisted, my voice brooking no argument. "They will paint the kitchen attack as an isolated, temporary mental breakdown. He’ll get five years in a minimum-security facility and walk out a wealthy man."
I looked at Detective Vance. "Give me a bulletproof vest. Give me a local anesthetic shot. And take me to Pine Crest. I am going to be there when you put him in a cage for the rest of his life."
Vance looked at Lena, then looked down at the dead mercenary on the floor.
He made his decision.
May you like
"Ramos," Vance commanded. "Call the SWAT tactical unit. Tell them we have a high-priority ambush target at the Pine Crest property. And tell the chief that Clara Sterling is riding with me as our primary material witness."
***