Chapter 10 - The Desperate Move
I pulled the suite door shut, ensuring the electronic deadbolt engaged, and left Mia sleeping under the guard of an armed hospital officer stationed directly outside our room.
In the small conference room across the corridor, Detective Cruz laid out several clear evidence bags on the laminate table.
“Your sister didn't jump off the bridge, Mrs. Vance, if that’s your concern,” Cruz said, pulling out a chair for me. “She ditched the rental car. Inside, we found a purchased one-way bus ticket to Montreal, an unregistered 9mm handgun purchased out of state, and this.”
Cruz slid a clear plastic bag across the table.
Inside was a handwritten notebook. The top page was covered in manic, sprawling scrawl in Donna’s distinctive, sharp handwriting.
*“Sarah took everything. The video was a setup. Julian and Claire orchestrated it to destroy Crestview. Mia is faking the paralysis for internet sympathy. They stole my life. I will take theirs.”*
Chills rippled across my arms. The descent into full clinical paranoia was terrifyingly obvious. Donna’s narcissistic ego, unable to accept that her own vile behavior had caused her downfall, had constructed an elaborate conspiracy where she was the martyr and we were the calculating villains.
“She’s off the grid right now,” Detective Cruz explained. “Her cell phone was powered down three hours ago in Long Island City. We have transit police checking regional bus and train hubs, but we believe she may still be in Manhattan. She knows you are at this facility.”
“How did she get into the hospital earlier today?” I asked, my voice shaking with fury.
“She used a visitor pass issued to a third-party catering delivery service,” Cruz grimaced. “A security lapse we have already addressed with hospital administration. The entire pediatric neurology floor is now under lockdown. No one enters without biometric verification and police escort.”
“And Mia’s surgery?” I asked, panic flaring. “She’s scheduled for spinal decompression on Tuesday!”
The conference room door opened, and Dr. Sterling stepped in, dressed in a charcoal wool sweater, his expression completely calm.
“The surgery will proceed exactly as planned, Mrs. Vance,” Sterling said, his voice a steady anchor in the storm. “Our operating theaters are secured on the third subterranean level. They are practically bunkers. Your sister will not disrupt Mia’s care. I give you my personal word.”
I looked between the detective and the renowned surgeon. Here I was, an ordinary mother from a small town, surrounded by elite doctors, powerhouse attorneys, and New York detectives, all forming an iron wall around my ten-year-old child.
“Why are you all doing this?” I asked, my voice cracking with raw emotion. “You don't even know us.”
Dr. Sterling smiled gently. “Mrs. Vance, in my profession, I see hundreds of children who give up. Spinal trauma destroys spirits faster than it destroys tissue. When I watched your daughter pick up that microphone at that wedding—when I saw her refuse to let cruelty define her humanity—I saw the rarest thing in medicine: unyielding will.”
He tapped the table with his knuckles.
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“A surgeon can repair bone. We can graft tissue. But we cannot implant will. Mia already has the hardest part. The rest is just mechanics. We are not letting anyone take that away from her.”
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