Chapter 2 - The Shadows at Saint Jude’s
I didn’t go to Saint Jude’s Chapel. Instead, I grabbed my car keys, stuffed the contents of the hospital bag into a canvas backpack, and drove straight to the precinct. But before I could even park my car in the station lot, a black sedan drifted out of the shadows with its headlights off, cutting me off and forcing me to slam on my brakes.
Two burly men in tailored charcoal suits stepped out of the sedan. They didn't look like muggers; they moved with the synchronized, lethal precision of private security or corporate mercenaries.
Panic surged. I threw my car into reverse, tires screeching against the asphalt, but another vehicle blocked me from behind. I was trapped.
The passenger-side door of the lead sedan opened, and a tall, silver-haired man stepped out. He wore a trench coat despite the mild weather, and his face bore a chilling resemblance to a portrait I would later find tucked inside the leather ledger—a striking, aristocratic jawline that belonged to none other than Arthur Vance, the billionaire pharmaceutical mogul and real-name philanthropist.
Arthur Vance walked slowly toward my driver's side window, tapping a leather-gloved finger against the glass.
I rolled it down, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Back off, or I'll start screaming for police right now."
Arthur let out a dry, humorless chuckle. His eyes were cold, sharp, and entirely devoid of warmth. "Police, Mr. Hayes? You think the police can protect you from what Gloria took from my family? Open the door. Hand over the ledger."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, though my voice betrayed me.
"Let's dispense with the amateur dramatics," Arthur said, leaning down so his face was inches from mine, his breath smelling faintly of expensive scotch. "Gloria was a thief. Forty years ago, she stole something invaluable from Vance Industries—something that could destroy everything I have built. She spent decades running, hiding behind fake names, slipping into obscurity. But her luck ran out. And yours just expired."
Before I could answer, a sudden, blinding flash cut through the dark.
Click. Flash.
Across the street, a camera shutter snapped. One of Arthur’s bodyguards whipped around, drawing a pistol, but a police siren wailed in the distance, bouncing off the concrete canyon walls.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed into slits. He straightened up, giving me a look that promised a violent, agonizing end. "This isn't over, Mr. Hayes. You can't run forever. Neither could she."
The men scrambled back into their sedan, peeling out into the night just as a patrol car rounded the corner.
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I sat there in the silence, shaking violently. Gloria hadn't just married me for companionship. She had used our marriage to legally bind her estate—and her secrets—to a complete stranger, creating a legal firewall that Vance's high-priced lawyers couldn't easily pierce without drawing public scrutiny.
She had made me her executioner's target. And I had no choice, now, except to fight back.
