Chapter 9: The Judge at Our Dinner Table
I remembered Judge Bell.
He had attended Christmas dinners at my parents’ house.
He brought expensive wine.
He called Preston “champ.”
When I was sixteen, he once told me I should smile more because beautiful girls did not need opinions.
Now he had released the man who fractured my daughter’s skull.
Daniel opened his files.
“I have payments from your father’s foundation to Bell’s wife’s consulting firm.”
“How much?”
“Four hundred thousand dollars over six years.”
Detective Ortiz leaned forward.
“Can you prove the firm performed no work?”
“Yes.”
“Then I need everything.”
Before Daniel could hand over the records, the hospital lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the hallway went dark.
Emergency lights turned red.
An alarm began sounding.
I ran toward Sophie’s room.
The officer posted outside was on the floor.
Unconscious.
The door stood open.
Sophie’s bed was empty.
“No!”
I ran inside.
Her IV line had been cut.
The blanket lay on the floor.
A wheelchair was missing from the corner.
Detective Ortiz shouted into her radio.
“Lock down every exit!”
I could not breathe.
Not again.
Not my daughter.
A faint sound came from the service hallway.
A wheel squeaking.
I ran toward it.
At the end of the corridor, a man pushed Sophie in a wheelchair toward a freight elevator.
He wore hospital scrubs and a mask.
Sophie’s head hung forward.
“Stop!”
The man turned.
For one second, our eyes met.
I recognized him.
Thomas Vale.
Preston’s best man.
A former police officer who now worked as Whitmore Capital’s head of security.
He abandoned the wheelchair and ran.
Ortiz chased him through the stairwell.
I dropped beside Sophie.
“Baby, open your eyes.”
Her breathing was slow.
Too slow.
A nurse arrived.
“She’s been sedated.”
They rushed her back into the room.
The medical team administered medication to reverse the sedative.
I stood against the wall, shaking so hard I could barely remain upright.
Ten minutes later, Ortiz returned.
Alone.
“He escaped through the loading dock.”
“How did he get past security?”
“He had an access badge.”
“From whom?”
“We’ll find out.”
My phone rang.
Preston’s name appeared.
Ortiz signaled for me to answer on speaker.
I pressed the button.
“Where are you?”
Preston laughed quietly.
“You should have taken Dad’s offer.”
“You tried to kidnap Sophie.”
“I’m at home with my wife.”
“Your wife knows what you are.”
There was a pause.
Then he said, “Cassandra is no longer in a position to help you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll understand soon.”
The line disconnected.
Ortiz immediately called for officers to locate Cassandra.
They found her car twenty minutes later.
Abandoned beside the Chicago River.
The driver’s door was open.
May you like
Her phone lay on the pavement.
And blood covered the steering wheel.
