Chapter 7 - THE POLICE PRECINCT
The chaos in the hospital room was beautiful.
Julian thrashed on the wet floor, his expensive suit soaked, screaming at the security guard to let him go. But the guard held him down firmly, yelling into his shoulder radio for backup.
"My wife is crazy!" Julian shrieked, pointing wildly at me as the sprinklers continued to rain down. "She started the fire! She’s trying to kill us!"
"Get her to a safe ward!" the charge nurse ordered, entirely ignoring Julian’s frantic accusations. Two orderlies quickly unhooked my bed from the wall monitors and began wheeling me out into the flooded hallway.
I watched as the nurse carrying my daughter followed closely beside my bed. My baby was screaming, her tiny face red and furious, but she was alive. She was safe.
As they rolled me past Julian, who was now pinned by two guards, I looked down at him.
I didn't say a word. I just let him see the absolute, uncompromising victory in my eyes.
They moved me to a secure recovery room on a different floor, placing my daughter in a clear bassinet right beside my bed. I reached through the plastic opening, letting her tiny, warm fingers wrap around my thumb.
The adrenaline crash hit me like a freight train. I was exhausted, shivering from the wet gown, and in immense pain, but my mind was racing.
Julian would talk his way out of the security hold eventually. He would spin the fire as another symptom of my "postpartum psychosis." I needed to make sure the police found the silver locket before he silenced Marcus.
The door to my new room opened.
A tall man in a trench coat walked in, followed by a uniformed police officer. The man pulled a badge from his pocket.
"Mrs. Vance? I am Detective Reynolds, Chicago PD," the man said, his voice grave. He looked at the baby, then at me. "I understand there was an incident upstairs. But I am actually here regarding your husband, Julian."
My heart hammered. "Is he under arrest?"
Detective Reynolds frowned, pulling a small notepad from his pocket. "Arrest? No, ma'am. He’s downstairs speaking with our officers right now. He claims you had a severe mental break and attacked him. But that’s not why I’m here."
He paused, looking deeply uncomfortable.
"We are here because of your sister-in-law, Chloe Vance," the detective said gently.
I swallowed hard. "Is she... did she pass away?"
"No," Reynolds shook his head. "She woke up from her coma twenty minutes ago."
The air left my lungs. Chloe was alive.
"She is in severe pain, and highly medicated," the detective continued, "but the very first thing she did when she regained consciousness was demand to speak to a detective."
"What did she say?" I asked, my grip tightening on my daughter's tiny hand.
Reynolds flipped a page in his notebook. "She said her mother, Eleanor, greased the staircase to kill you. She said Julian was in on it. She explicitly stated they were trying to murder you for a $1.5 million life insurance payout."
I closed my eyes, a tear of pure, overwhelming relief slipping down my cheek. Chloe had turned on them. She realized they were going to leave her to die, and she had delivered the final, fatal blow to their lie.
"She also told us to find a man named Marcus," Reynolds said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "She said he had evidence regarding the murder of your late father."
"Marcus is in your custody," I said quickly, sitting up despite the pain. "Julian had him arrested in the ER waiting room an hour ago for assault. He is in the holding cells at your precinct."
Reynolds’s eyes went wide. "He’s in our holding cells?"
"Yes," I said urgently. "And when you inventory his personal belongings, you will find a silver locket. Inside it is a Polaroid photograph of Eleanor murdering my father, and a flight receipt proving they were fleeing the country today."
Reynolds didn't ask another question. He grabbed his radio, barking orders into it as he sprinted out of the hospital room.
I laid my head back against the pillows, listening to the soft, rhythmic breathing of my newborn daughter.
It was over. The house of cards had finally collapsed.
Ten minutes later, the door opened again.
I expected Detective Reynolds to return with an update on Julian’s arrest.
Instead, stepping into the quiet, dimly lit hospital room, was Eleanor.
She wasn't wearing a hospital gown. She was dressed in a sleek, black travel coat, holding a large leather purse. The right side of her jaw was heavily bruised from where Marcus had struck her with the flashlight, giving her an unhinged, asymmetrical sneer.
"You really thought a little water and a loud alarm would stop us, Victoria?" Eleanor hissed, locking the heavy wooden door behind her.
She reached into her oversized purse.
May you like
She pulled out a long, terrifyingly sharp surgical scalpel.
"Julian might be downstairs talking to the cops," Eleanor whispered, stepping slowly toward my bed, her eyes fixed entirely on the bassinet holding my daughter. "But the flight to Geneva leaves in forty minutes. And I am not leaving empty-handed."
