Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT HOSPITAL RUNMom refused to sign their paperwork, and under federal medical override protocols I invoked using my DHS clearance, I had her immediately transferred out of the Westbridge holding cells and into the county hospital’s secure trauma unit.
The sterile smell of antiseptic hung heavy in the air as Dr. Alan Vance—no relation, thankfully—finished reviewing her X-rays under my watchful eye.
"She has a hairline fracture in her left radius, severe soft-tissue bruising across her right ribcage, and mild concussion symptoms," the doctor said, pointing to the illuminated scans on the wall. "This wasn't a minor scuffle, Agent Vance. Someone hit her with significant velocity, likely from an elevated swing."
"Thank you, Doctor," I said, jotting down the medical codes in my operational log. "Can you provide a certified forensic injury report by 8:00 a.m.?"
"It’s already printing," he replied, giving me a sympathetic nod. "And Clara? I heard whispers about what happened at the station. Be careful. Landry’s department has a lot of friends in high places."
When I stepped back into Mom’s private hospital room, she was propped up against the pillows, her left arm bandaged and immobilized in a rigid splint. Her swollen eye was beginning to turn a deep, ugly shade of purple, but her mind was sharper than ever.
"Is Arthur still with her?" Mom asked softly, her voice raspy.
"He’s still acting like a fool, Mom," I said gently, pulling a chair up to her bedside and taking her uninjured hand in mine. "He chose Brooke and Landry over you. But that choice is going to cost him everything."
Mom squeezed my hand, a tear tracking down her weathered cheek. "I didn't care about the money, Clara. I didn't care about the house. I just wanted my son back. When Brooke pulled that bat out of the closet... Arthur just watched. He didn't even yell."
"He's a coward," I said firmly. "And cowards always break when the pressure gets high enough."
Suddenly, my phone buzzed violently on the bedside table. It was an urgent alert from Marcus at Quantico.
Clara, check your secondary secure portal. We just intercepted a burner-phone call between Landry and the county prosecutor. They’re rushing an emergency magistrate hearing for 5:00 a.m. to slap a gag order on your mother and force her into an involuntary psychiatric hold.
I stared at the screen, a dark laugh escaping my lips. An involuntary psychiatric hold? They were literally trying to lock her away in a ward to silence her testimony before the federal audit team arrived.
"They're getting desperate, Mom," I said, standing up and buttoning my tactical jacket. "Which means we're winning."
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"Where are you going?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.
"To crash a very illegal, very early morning court session."
