Chapter 3 - The Panel Opens
Time seems to stretch, fracturing into crystal-clear fragments.
I see the muscles in Audrey’s arms bunching as she prepares to bring the heavy crystal vase crashing down onto Marta’s head. Marta stands frozen for a fraction of a second, her eyes widening in terror as she clutches the bag of pills against her chest, shielding my mother with her own body.
I don’t hesitate anymore.
With a brutal kick of my boot, I slam my foot against the hidden spring-loaded release latch concealed behind the dark oak paneling of the observation room.
BANG.
The heavy wood panel flies inward, crashing against the wall with a thunderous echo that shakes the entire suite. Dust billows into the air.
Audrey freezes mid-swing. The heavy crystal vase stops inches above Marta’s head. Slowly, with trembling shoulders and a face drained of every drop of color, Audrey lowers the vase and turns around to face the dark opening in the wall.
The silence in the room is absolute, heavy enough to suffocate.
I step out of the shadows, walking slowly across the shattered wood panels onto the bedroom rug. I am wearing my tailored dark suit, my shoulders broad, my expression carved from pure, unyielding granite. The heavy Glock is still in my hand, the black metal gleaming dully under the chandelier light.
Audrey’s lips part, but no sound comes out. Her breath catches in her throat. She drops the crystal vase; it shatters against the marble floor, sending shards flying in every direction.
“V-Victor?” she stammers, her voice cracking into a high-pitched, pathetic squeak. “You... you were supposed to be in London. How... how are you here?”
I stop two feet away from her. I can smell her expensive perfume mixed with the cold sweat of absolute terror.
“Surprised to see me, Audrey?” I ask, my voice terrifyingly calm, carrying a low, rumbling baritone that makes her flinch. “Did you really think I would leave my mother defenseless while I flew across an ocean? Did you think I wouldn’t check the locks?”
“Victor, listen to me!” she shrieks, her hands flying up in a desperate defensive gesture as she tries to rebuild her mask of innocence. “It’s not what it looks like! I walked in and found Marta trying to force strange pills down your mother’s throat! Marta is trying to poison her, and I was just trying to stop her!”
What an extraordinary liar. Even with a gun pointed at her world, her first instinct is to spin a web of deceit, pinning her heinous crimes on a loyal woman who has spent ten years caring for my family.
I don’t yell. I don’t raise my voice. I simply look at her with such cold, dead indifference that she takes an involuntary step backward.
“Marta,” I say quietly, without breaking eye contact with Audrey. “Stand up.”
Marta slowly straightens her posture, keeping the plastic bag of pills clutched safely in her weathered hands.
“Mr. Vance,” Marta says, her voice thick with emotion. “She tried to kill Mrs. Vance. Every single day for three weeks, she makes me leave the room, and then she forces these blue pills down her throat. Mrs. Vance hasn’t been able to swallow them, so she hid them for me to find.”
I look down at my mother. Tears are rolling freely down her wrinkled cheeks, and she blinks twice rapidly—our pre-established code for “It is the absolute truth.”
I turn my gaze back to Audrey. My expression doesn't soften by a single millimeter.
“Dr. Sterling prescribed these,” Audrey babbles frantically, her facade completely collapsing into hysterics. “He said they were experimental nerve-regenerative supplements! It’s Dr. Sterling’s fault! He gave them to me!”
“Dr. Julian Sterling,” I repeat, rolling his name over my tongue like something foul. “My personal physician. The man I pay a quarter-million dollars a year to keep my family alive.”
I holster my Glock, the heavy leather of the shoulder rig creaking in the silence. I pull out my encrypted satellite phone from my breast pocket.
“Audrey,” I whisper, leaning in close so she can smell the cold fury rolling off me. “You are about to learn why people in Chicago don’t even dare speak my name after dark. Marta, take my mother to the east wing. Lock the doors. Nobody enters or leaves this estate until I say so.”
“Yes, Mr. Vance,” Marta says respectfully, wheeling my mother’s bed smoothly out of the room.
Audrey tries to follow them toward the door, but two of my elite security guards—who materialized from the hallway the second the wall panel crashed open—step into her path like a pair of iron statues, blocking her exit.
“Where are you taking me?” Audrey screams, tears finally streaming down her face as her designer dress wrinkles from her frantic movements. “My father is a federal judge! You can’t do this to me! He’ll lock you away for the rest of your life!”
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I press speed dial on my satellite phone, my eyes locked on her terrified face.
“Let your father come,” I reply softly. “Because before I am done with you, Dr. Julian Sterling, your father, and every single person who helped you poison my mother are going to wish they had never been born.”
