Chapter 7 - THE WOODEN BIRD
Clara threw her body in front of Lily, shielding the small child with the heavy layers of her wedding dress. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, but the newly discovered fire in her soul refused to let her cower.
"You're not taking her, Marcus!" Clara yelled, her voice echoing off the sterile walls of the recreation room. The other children in the room shrieked, scrambling under tables and behind worn couches as they saw the gun.
Marcus sighed, a deeply bored, professional sound. He kept the silenced pistol aimed squarely at Clara’s chest. "Julian is very resourceful, Clara. Even in handcuffs, he made a phone call. The girl is leverage. If she disappears, Elias Thorne’s testimony disappears. Now, move aside. I don't want to shoot the bride on her wedding day, but I will."
"No," Clara said, her voice shaking but defiant.
Suddenly, Arthur burst into the room, chest heaving from climbing the stairs. He saw Marcus, saw the gun, and saw his daughter shielding the little girl.
"Marcus! Put it down!" Arthur roared, stepping into the room.
Marcus didn't even flinch. "Arthur. You should really stay out of this. Julian’s father sends his regards. He also mentioned that if you interfere, your company’s offshore accounts will be leaked to the feds by midnight."
Arthur froze. The threat was real. Everything he had built, his entire legacy, the empire he had sacrificed Elias for, was hanging by a thread. He looked at Marcus, then at the gun, and finally at Clara.
For years, Arthur had chosen wealth. He had chosen power. He had allowed his own daughter to marry a monster just to protect his assets.
Arthur closed his eyes. A single tear escaped, rolling down his wrinkled cheek. When he opened them, the terrified, cowardly billionaire was gone. A father remained.
"Leak them," Arthur said, his voice deadly calm.
Before Marcus could process the billionaire's shocking surrender, Arthur charged.
He didn't run like a young man, but he ran with the weight of years of crushing guilt. Marcus cursed and swung the gun toward Arthur, firing once. The muted thwip of the silenced pistol barely made a sound, but Arthur grunted loudly, stumbling forward.
Despite the bullet tearing through his shoulder, Arthur slammed his full body weight into Marcus. The two men crashed into a heavy wooden bookcase, sending it toppling to the floor in a shower of dusty children's books. The gun clattered across the linoleum floor, sliding under a radiator.
"Run, Clara!" Arthur yelled, pinning Marcus to the ground with all his remaining strength.
Clara didn't hesitate. She grabbed Lily’s small hand. "Come on!"
To her surprise, Lily didn't pull away. The little girl gripped Clara’s hand with surprising strength, her other hand still clutching the wooden bird, and they sprinted toward the back exit of the recreation room.
They burst into a narrow, dimly lit stairwell. Clara’s legs, healed barely an hour ago, moved with miraculous grace as they descended. They pushed through a heavy fire door and spilled out into the cold, rainy alleyway behind the orphanage.
Clara leaned against the brick wall, gasping for air. The cold rain soaked her hair and ruined the last pristine pieces of her dress. She looked down at Lily. The little girl was shivering, staring up at Clara with wide, terrified eyes.
"It's okay," Clara panted, kneeling down in the puddles to be eye-level with the child. "You're safe. We're going to get you to your daddy."
For the first time in three years, Lily opened her mouth. Her voice was tiny, raspy from disuse. "Daddy is gone."
Clara felt her heart break. She reached out and gently touched the carved wooden robin in Lily's hands. "He's not gone, sweetheart. He sent me to find you. He told me you wait by the window."
Lily looked at the wooden bird, a tear mixing with the rain on her cheek. "He made this for me before the bad men took him away. He promised he would come back when he fixed the broken things."
"He did," Clara wept, smiling through her tears. "He fixed me, Lily. And now we are going to fix him."
Tires screeched at the end of the alley. Detective Vance’s unmarked police cruiser skidded to a halt, its headlights cutting through the heavy rain. Vance threw open the door, his badge shining on his belt.
"Clara! Get in!" Vance yelled.
Clara scooped Lily into her arms, marveling at how she could carry the weight without her spine collapsing, and ran to the car. They piled into the backseat, locking the doors.
"My father is inside," Clara gasped, pointing back at the orphanage. "He’s shot. A man named Marcus..."
"Units are already swarming the building," Vance interrupted, slamming the car into gear and speeding out of the alley. "They'll get Arthur and the shooter. We need to get to the hospital. Now."
Clara noticed the grim, tight set of Vance’s jaw. The triumph of escaping Marcus suddenly vanished, replaced by a cold dread.
"Vance," Clara asked, her voice trembling. "What is it? How is Elias?"
Vance didn't look at her in the rearview mirror. He stared straight ahead at the rain-slicked roads, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"His heart gave out in the ambulance," Vance said quietly. "They managed to resuscitate him in the ER, but he’s coding again. The doctors say his body underwent an impossible amount of cellular stress. He’s dying, Clara."
Lily let out a tiny, broken whimper, burying her face into Clara’s wet wedding dress. Clara held the girl tight, staring out the window as the hospital came into view, praying for one more miracle.
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But as they pulled up to the emergency room entrance, Clara saw something that made her blood run cold.
Standing beneath the brightly lit awning, smoking a cigarette, was Julian’s father, Richard Pierce. And he was talking directly to the Chief of Surgery.
