Chapter 7 - The Hidden Secret in the Glove Compartment"What is he talking about?" Elena demanded, snatching the note from my trembling fingers and reading it twice. "What missing medical bag?"
My mind raced frantically, trying to piece together the terrifying puzzle Ryan’s threat had just thrown into our lives. My postpartum brain was still recovering, but memory fragments began to surface like jagged rocks through receding water.
Before Ryan left for Aspen... before my legs gave out in the nursery...
"My prenatal emergency kit," I gasped, my eyes widening in sudden horror. "The obstetrician prescribed me a specialized post-delivery hormone and blood-clotting injection kit in case of hemorrhage. It was stored in the locked glove compartment of my sedan in the garage."
"Why would Ryan care about a medical kit?" Elena asked, her brow furrowing deeply.
"Because..." I swallowed hard, the terrible truth dawning on me. "Because when I begged him to take me to the hospital, I told him I had the emergency kit in the car, and that I needed those injections immediately. He... he opened the glove compartment, took the bag out, and threw it into the back seat of his own car before he drove away to Aspen."
Elena’s face drained of all color. "He took your life-saving medication with him?"
"He didn't just take it," I whispered, tears spilling over my eyelashes. "He knew I needed it. He knew it was prescribed to prevent severe complications. And when he realized I collapsed... instead of calling an ambulance or leaving the bag behind, he took it with him so there would be no physical evidence of my condition in the house."
"That sociopathic piece of trash," Elena growled, her voice dropping into a terrifying register. She pulled out her phone with lightning speed. "I am calling Marcus right now. We are adding extortion, blackmail, and withholding life-saving medical treatment to his criminal charges."
"Wait!" I stopped her, grabbing her wrist. "Look at the note again, Elena. He said if we don't drop the charges and give him half the trust fund by midnight... he's going to frame us."
"Frame us for what?"
"I don't know," I said, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. "But Ryan is desperate, cornered, and completely unhinged. If he has that medical bag, he could plant it anywhere—or claim we did something to it."
Before Elena could dial, my phone buzzed violently on the bedside table.
It wasn't a call. It was a text message from an unknown number.
I picked it up and tapped the screen. It was a short video clip.
The video showed Ryan’s new brunette accomplice—the woman from the café photo—standing inside our home garage, holding my missing medical bag right next to the driver's side door of my car. She was smiling wickedly at the camera, holding up a small plastic vial of prescription medication.
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Then, another text popped up right beneath the video:
“Midnight, Clara. Meet me at the old pier by the marina alone, or the cops get an anonymous tip that you overdosed on experimental hormones and neglected your own baby. Tick-tock.”
