Chapter 8 - The Safe RoomWe moved swiftly through the darkened corridors of the administrative wing, guided by the red glow of emergency exit signs. The hospital was dead silent, the rest of the staff locked securely in their respective wards, completely unaware of the shadow war playing out in the upper floors.
Dr. Harrison, bound tightly with industrial zip-ties and gagged with medical tape, stumbled along between two of Moretti's guards.
We reached the heavy oak doors of the chief administrator's office at the end of the penthouse hallway. Harrison’s office was lavish, filled with expensive leather armchairs, mahogany bookshelves, and a massive floor-to-ceiling electronic wall safe disguised behind an oil painting.
"Open it," Sebastian ordered, pulling the gag down from Harrison's mouth.
Gasuring for breath, Harrison pressed his trembling thumb against the biometric scanner of the wall safe and punched a frantic twelve-digit numerical code into the keypad.
BEEP-BEEP-CLACK.
The heavy steel door swung open, revealing rows of stacked cash, encrypted hard drives, and dozens of thick manila folders labeled with confidential medical codes.
Sebastian stepped forward, ignoring the money entirely. His gloved hand reached straight for a sleek, encrypted silver hard drive resting on the top shelf. He pulled it out, turning it over in his palm.
"Is this it?" Sebastian asked, looking down at Harrison.
"Yes! Yes, that's everything!" Harrison cried out, tears streaming down his face. "Every record from St. Jude's! Every child we relocated! Please, Sebastian, you have what you wanted—let me go!"
Sebastian didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the mahogany desk, gently setting the hard drive down, and then turned his attention to a stack of adoption certificates resting near the edge.
My eyes scanned the top folder as Sebastian flipped it open.
Name: Leo Moretti. Date of Birth: Seventeen years ago, Ward B. Adoptive Status: Unverified / Transferred to private custody under Judge Miller's directive.
My breath caught. I looked up at Sebastian, my heart pounding in my ears.
"Sebastian," I whispered, pointing to the document. "Look at the adoption placement location. It wasn't an orphanage. It wasn't a black-market syndicate abroad."
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Sebastian looked down at the paper, his eyes widening as he read the address.
"It was Judge Miller's private estate," Sebastian breathed, the color draining from his face. "He didn't traffic him... he raised him."
