Chapter 7 - THE FEED
Vanessa flinched at the sound. "Turn your phone off. Now."
"I can't," I said, pulling it out slowly. "It's the security feed from my house. If I don't answer the prompt, the system automatically dispatches the police. It's a fail-safe I installed before I left for Saudi Arabia."
Marcus frowned. "He's lying, Vanessa. Make him scan."
"Look for yourself," I said, turning the screen toward them.
The live feed from my kitchen was glowing brightly. But it wasn't showing a hired nurse injecting my mother.
It showed Elena.
She was standing behind my mother's wheelchair, holding a heavy iron skillet. And lying unconscious on the kitchen floor was the "nurse" Marcus had sent.
"Elena grew up in a rough neighborhood, Vanessa," I said, a slow, grim smile spreading across my face. "She recognized the fake nurse from the agency. And she wasn't about to let you hurt my family again."
Vanessa stared at the screen, all the color draining from her face.
"Now," I said, stepping toward her and swatting the biometric scanner out of her hand. It clattered against the linoleum floor. "It's my turn to make a call."
I dialed 911.
"Put the phone down, Daniel," Marcus warned, reaching inside his jacket.
But he never got the chance to pull his weapon.
The door to Room 415 burst open. Three plainclothes detectives walked in, badges flashing.
"Marcus Vance? Vanessa Carter?" the lead detective said, drawing his sidearm. "Hands where I can see them."
Vanessa screamed, trying to run toward Leo's bed, but a detective caught her arm, spinning her around and slapping handcuffs on her wrists. Marcus stood frozen, realizing his empire of lies had just crumbled.
"How?" Marcus muttered, staring at me.
"When I left the house, I didn't just go to the hospital," I said quietly. "I went to the precinct. I gave them the ledger. I gave them the security footage of Vanessa attacking my mother. And I gave them the trust documents. They’ve been listening outside the door for five minutes."
"Mommy!" Leo screamed from the bed, terrified by the police. "Mommy, what's happening?"
Vanessa was sobbing hysterically as they dragged her toward the door. "Daniel, please! He needs the surgery! He's going to die! Please!"
The door clicked shut behind them.
The room fell into a heavy, tragic silence, broken only by the steady beeping of the dialysis machine and the quiet weeping of a seven-year-old boy.
I looked down at Leo. He was clutching my father's wooden rosary, his small knuckles white. He was innocent. He didn't ask for a corrupt grandfather, a murderous mother, or a failing kidney.
He was just a kid.
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I walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. I reached out and gently rested my hand on his.
"It's okay, Leo," I said softly. "You're going to be okay."
