Chapter 7 - THE NORTH WING SECRET
I stared through the observation glass at ten-year-old Marcus Vance.
He had the exact same nose and jawline as Evelyn's late husband, Arthur Morgan—David and Julian's father.
"That's not a nephew," I said aloud, the pieces clicking together with chilling clarity. "That's Arthur's youngest son, isn't it? Born right before he died."
Julian's face twisted with rage, stepping toward me with his uninjured fist raised. "Shut your mouth!"
From his chair, David looked up at me, his bruised face filled with grim confirmation. "My father found out Julian was skimming millions from the hospitality group before he died," David rasped. "So he changed his will. He left the controlling shares of the entire company in a trust for Marcus—his son from his second marriage before he remarried Evelyn. Evelyn was supposed to be the boy's guardian, and if Marcus was ever deemed mentally incompetent before age eighteen, full control of the fifty-million-dollar trust reverted to Evelyn and Julian."
I looked at Evelyn in horror.
She hadn't built this monstrous pediatric drug trial just for federal grants or pharmaceutical payouts. She had set the entire operation up so she could legally declare a healthy ten-year-old boy mentally incompetent, pump him full of experimental sedatives until his brain was permanently damaged, and steal his fifty-million-dollar inheritance.
The twelve poor children from Pinecrest Elementary—Oliver, Lily Miller, and the others—were just the cover story. If only one wealthy heir was committed to the facility, the probate court would get suspicious. So Evelyn had used Principal Whitaker and Mrs. Caldwell to manufacture an entire "behavioral program" of low-income kids to make the trial look like a legitimate, state-approved clinical study.
"And when you needed a corporate officer's signature on the high-risk medical trial waivers in case the FDA ever investigated," I said, glaring at Evelyn, "you forged David's name so he'd go to federal prison instead of Julian."
"David always wanted to play the noble hero, working as a public accountant while we ran the empire," Evelyn said coldly, unbothered by the accusation. "It seemed fitting he should finally contribute to the family." She snapped her fingers at me. "The USB drive, Jennifer. Give it to me right now, or Deputy Miller puts a bullet in Oliver's father's knee."
Deputy Chief Miller stepped forward, resting his hand on his service weapon.
I looked at the clock on the observation room wall. 5:04 PM.
Just a few more minutes.
I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out the blank duplicate USB drive, and tossed it onto the metal table between us.
Julian snatched it up and jammed it into a laptop sitting on the desk.
"Caldwell, go out to the loading dock with Miller and bring the Morgan girl and the Hayes boy inside," Evelyn ordered, not taking her eyes off me. "Once we inject Jennifer and David with the sedative and stage their car crash in the ravine tonight, Grace will unfortunately suffer a severe trauma response requiring immediate admission to the North Wing."
"Don't you dare touch my daughter!" David roared, tipping his metal chair forward in a desperate attempt to stand, only for Deputy Miller to shove him violently back down to the floor.
"Wait!" Julian barked, staring at the laptop screen. "Mother, this drive is completely blank! There's nothing on it!"
Evelyn's eyes snapped to me. "You lying little—"
At that exact second, the fluorescent lights overhead flickered twice and died.
The entire North Wing plunged into pitch darkness, followed a split second later by the eerie, dim red glow of the emergency battery lanterns along the ceiling. Across the hallway, the heavy magnetic locks on the ward doors gave a loud clunk as the main power generator died.
Greg Miller and the parents had cut the power.
In the sudden chaos and red shadows, I didn't hesitate.
Before Deputy Chief Miller could draw his weapon in the dark, I lunged forward, jammed the prongs of Julian's stun gun directly into the side of the corrupt deputy's neck, and pulled the trigger.
Fifty thousand volts coursed through him. Miller stiffened with a muffled grunt and collapsed unconscious onto the linoleum floor.
"Get her!" Evelyn screamed.
Julian lunged across the desk at me with his good arm, grabbing a heavy glass paperweight. I dodged backward, grabbed a surgical Mayo stand by the wall, and shoved the metal tray straight into his shins.
While Julian stumbled, I dove for the floor, grabbed Deputy Miller's fallen tactical knife from his belt, and slashed through the plastic zip-ties binding David's wrists.
As soon as his hands were free, David surged to his feet like a man possessed. Before Julian could recover, David drove his fist squarely into his half-brother's jaw, knocking him flat across the metal desk.
I quickly cut the ties on Sarah and Robert Hayes. Sarah immediately threw her arms around me in a fierce, grateful hug before grabbing a heavy flashlight from the counter.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Caldwell and Principal Whitaker—who had been standing near the hallway door—bolted in terror toward the loading dock exit.
"They're going toward the car where the kids are!" I yelled to David.
We sprinted out of the observation room and down the red-lit hallway toward the loading dock, right behind Robert and Sarah Hayes.
Whitaker and Caldwell burst through the steel double doors into the twilight just as we reached the threshold.
They froze on the concrete dock.
Waiting for them outside weren't two helpless nine-year-olds.
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Parked in a tight semicircle around my SUV were four pickup trucks with their high beams blindingly bright. Standing in front of the trucks were eleven furious parents holding tire irons, baseball bats, and heavy logging chains. And standing right beside my open SUV door was sixty-eight-year-old Ruth Jenkins, holding a twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun leveled squarely at Thomas Whitaker's chest.
"Take one more step toward this car, Thomas," Ruth said, her voice ringing out clear in the cold mountain air, "and you won't have to worry about your pension."
