Chapter 5 - The War Room
The chaos inside Room 402 culminated in a matter of seconds.
Marcus wrestled the dazed Briggs to the floor, pinning him under the heavy metal IV stand, while Daniel, despite the agony tearing through his back, drove his knee repeatedly into the second guard’s solar plexus until the man went limp.
Dr. Arthur Vance backed into the corner, his hands raised, weeping openly in terror. "Marcus... please... she'll kill the children..."
The door was kicked open violently. The two off-duty police officers Daniel had hired charged in, service weapons drawn. "POLICE! NOBODY MOVE!"
"Secure them!" Marcus shouted, breathless, his knuckles split and bleeding. "These men attempted an armed abduction and attempted murder! And arrest this man—" Marcus pointed a trembling, furious finger at his own father "—for conspiracy to commit capital murder!"
Twenty minutes later, the floor was swarming with Denver tactical units and hospital security. The two hitmen and Dr. Vance were dragged away in zip-ties. Daniel, refusing pain medication that would cloud his mind, sat in a wheelchair beside Emily’s bed, his hand clutching hers so tightly their knuckles were white.
A specialist from the hospital’s independent toxicology unit, a woman unaffiliated with the Sterling network, entered the room holding an urgent lab panel.
"Mr. Sterling," the toxicologist said grimly. "We ran Mrs. Sterling's blood as requested. We found significant levels of digitoxin—the active compound in digitalis. It mimics the symptoms of preeclampsia. If she had taken those supplements for another forty-eight hours, she would have suffered fatal heart failure, and the fetus would have asphyxiated in the womb."
Emily wept, burying her face into Daniel’s chest. Daniel held her, his eyes cold and hollow, the last remnants of his filial affection burning away into absolute, unyielding hatred.
"We can't stay here," Emily whispered against his neck. "She owns the police, Daniel. She owns the judges. She sent armed men into a hospital! What's stopping her from sending twenty more?"
"Nothing," Daniel said quietly. He looked up at Marcus, who was leaning against the wall, his head in his hands, processing the total destruction of his father's life. "Marcus. Where can we go?"
Marcus wiped a smear of blood from his cheek and looked up, his jaw setting into hard lines. "My grandfather’s old hunting lodge in the Blackwood Valley. It’s off-grid. No cellular towers, no registered GPS address, heated by timber and powered by a private generator. Eleanor doesn't know it exists. My father inherited it, but I’m the only one with the keys."
"Get the car," Daniel said. "We discharge ourselves right now."
"Daniel, you have broken vertebrae!" Emily cried. "You need surgery!"
"I need my wife and child alive," Daniel answered, his voice ringing with absolute finality. "If I stay in this hospital bed, Eleanor will ensure none of us wake up tomorrow. Marcus, call Detective Kowalski. He’s the only homicide investigator my father trusted before he died. Tell him to meet us at the perimeter."
Within forty-five minutes, wrapped in dark civilian coats and escorted by the two loyal off-duty officers, Daniel and Emily were smuggled through the hospital’s underground service tunnels and into the back of an unmarked, armored SUV.
As the heavy tires rolled out into the freezing Denver night, a blinding blizzard began to blanket the city in a shroud of white.
From a high-rise penthouse overlooking the city skyline, three miles away, a silhouette stood behind floor-to-ceiling glass, swirling a glass of scotch. Eleanor Sterling lowered her phone from her ear.
Her private security chief stood behind her. "Ma'am, Briggs and the doctor were intercepted. Vance broke instantly under interrogation. A federal warrant is currently being drafted by the state attorney's office."
Eleanor took a slow sip of the amber liquor. Her face showed no fear, no panic—only a cold, reptilian focus.
"Let them draft their warrants," Eleanor said softly, watching the snow swirl against the glass. "A warrant requires a living victim to testify. Where are they heading?"
"Our satellite tracking picked up Marcus Vance’s vehicle heading northwest toward Blackwood Valley. It's completely isolated, ma'am. The blizzard will cut off all road access within two hours."
Eleanor set her glass down with a delicate *clink*.
May you like
"Good," she whispered, her eyes reflecting the storm. "Mobilize the Blackwood Estate convoy. Cut the regional power lines to the valley. If my son wants to die a hero for that peasant, I will ensure they share the same frozen grave."
***
