Chapter 7 - The Downfall
Ethan didn't raise his hands. Instead, he yanked me in front of him, using me as a human shield, his arm locked tight around my throat, cutting off my air.
"Miller?" Ethan gasped, recognizing the former investigator despite the dim light. "You? You're behind this?"
"Put her down, Ethan," Miller said, taking measured steps forward, his gun steady as a rock. "It's over. Every word you just said—about the bathtub, about Owen seeing you, about holding him under—was transmitted live to an encrypted server. It's already in the hands of the State Bureau of Investigation."
Ethan's grip on my throat tightened. I clawed at his arm, gasping for breath, my vision blurring at the edges.
"You're bluffing," Ethan hissed, his voice trembling with a terrifying blend of rage and realization. "Arlen controls the local department. He won't process a warrant."
"Arlen isn't in charge anymore," Miller said coldly. "The SBI took over thirty minutes ago after they received copies of the morgue report and your Cayman Islands bank transfers. Look out the window, Ethan."
Through the heavy rain outside, red and blue strobe lights suddenly exploded against the glass.
Three state trooper cruisers sped up the driveway, their sirens wailing, their high beams cutting through the dark night. Tires screeched on the gravel as armed officers tumbled out of the vehicles, taking up tactical positions around the perimeter of the house.
"Dr. Ethan Vance!" a loudspeaker boomed from the front yard. "This is the State Bureau of Investigation! The house is surrounded! Step outside with your hands visible!"
Ethan stiffened. The reality of his collapse descended upon him like a ton of falling brick.
His grip on my throat loosened slightly. I took advantage of his hesitation, slamming my elbow backward into his surgical wound—the old scar on his side from a sports injury years ago.
Ethan grunted in pain, staggering back.
I broke free, stumbling forward into Miller's arms. Miller grabbed my jacket, pulling me safely behind him, keeping his weapon trained on Ethan.
Ethan backed away toward the French doors leading out to the rear patio. He looked like a cornered animal, his hair wild, his eyes bloodshot, his tailored suit disheveled.
"You ruined me," he whispered, staring at me with pure hatred. "You ruined everything."
"You ruined yourself the moment you touched my son," I said, my voice raspy and broken from his grip.
Ethan lunged for the patio door, shoving it open and hurling himself out into the pouring rain, sprinting toward the woods behind the house.
"Ethan, stop!" Miller shouted, giving chase out onto the muddy lawn.
"Drop your weapon!" state troopers yelled from the side yards, converging on the rear garden.
Ethan didn't stop. He ran blindly through the mud, slipping, scrambling to his feet, trying to reach the deep darkness of the pine trees.
A flash of lightning illuminated the yard.
Ethan slipped on the wet embankment near the stone retaining wall, his feet flying out from under him. He hit the stone edge hard, a sickening crack echoing through the rain, before tumbling headfirst into the swollen drainage creek at the base of the hill.
The troopers swarmed the embankment, their flashlights washing over the rushing water.
"Get him out!" Miller yelled, running down the slope.
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Two troopers dragged Ethan's limp body out of the muddy creek. He was unconscious, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead, his legs bent at unnatural angles.
He was alive, but he wasn't running anymore.
