Chapter 2 - THE PAPER TRAIL OF BLOODThe sterile smell of Tacoma General Hospital’s trauma bay did little to numb the white-hot fire in my side. Three cracked ribs, a severe concussion, and deep soft-tissue bruising across my back. But physical pain was nothing compared to the cold panic coiled in my gut.
My father sat on a hard vinyl chair beside my bed, his hands folded between his knees, staring at the linoleum floor. Noah was asleep in the corner, wrapped in a hospital blanket, clutching his stuffed dinosaur like a lifeline.
“Dad,” I rasped, my voice barely a whisper through the oxygen mask. “The phone… did you look at the screen?”
Dad slowly raised his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his expression was locked in iron. He pulled my cracked smartphone from his jacket pocket, its screen illuminated with the pending notification.
“A $250,000 equity line of credit,” Dad said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “Submitted at 5:12 p.m. today. Using my home in Ruston as collateral. He forged my signature and used your security questions.”
A tear slid down my temple, hot and bitter. “He told me weeks ago he needed my social security number to update our family health insurance. I gave it to him, Dad. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t, Lena,” Dad said softly, reaching out to cover my trembling hand with his calloused palm. “Evan’s been planning this for months. But he made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“He thought I was just an old dock worker who wouldn’t check his bank alerts,” Dad replied. “The moment the bank flagged the fraudulent application, an automated text went to my landline. That’s why I was awake when Noah called.”
Suddenly, the curtain pulled back. Detective Sarah Miller walked in, holding a leather notepad. Her badge gleamed against her dark blazer.
“Mrs. Vance—sorry, Mrs. Mercer,” Detective Miller corrected herself quickly. “We’ve issued an felony warrant for Evan Mercer for Domestic Violence Assault in the First Degree and Grand Larceny. But there’s a problem.”
My heart hammered against my shattered ribs. “Did you find him?”
“We found his truck,” Miller said grimly. “Abandoned near the Point Defiance ferry terminal. The engine was still running. Keys in the ignition.”
“He jumped?” Dad asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Or he took the ferry under a fake name,” Miller replied. “We’re pulling the security footage now. But Mrs. Mercer, we searched the truck. We found something else in the glove box. A set of forged passports for Evan and your son, Noah.”
The air left my lungs.
Evan wasn’t just fleeing. He had spent months preparing to kidnap Noah and strip my father’s life savings clean before disappearing entirely. The seventy-three dollars in my account hadn’t enraged him because it was money; it had enraged him because it meant I was building an escape fund—a crack in his master plan.
“He’s not leaving the state without that money,” Dad said, standing up to his full height. “The loan application requires a second verification code sent to Lena’s phone at noon tomorrow. He needs this phone. Or he needs her.”
Before Miller could respond, my phone vibrated in Dad’s hand.
An unknown number.
May you like
Dad tapped the speaker button and held it out.
“Hello, Art,” Evan’s voice smooth, detached, almost playful, echoed in the silent hospital room. “I hope Lena’s enjoying her stay. Tell her if she doesn’t approve that bank transfer by 12:00 PM tomorrow, I won't just take the house. I’ll make sure Noah’s next birthday present comes in a wooden box.”
