Chapter 13 - The Trap at the Coffee ShopI didn't panic. I didn't cry. The paralyzing fear I might have felt months ago had been completely forged into cold, razor-sharp steel.
Within five minutes, Detective Miller and a tactical unit were stationed in my office.
“They’re getting desperate, Dr. Vance,” Miller said, staring at the paused video frame on my computer monitor. His face was set in a hard, grim line. “When a syndicate like this loses billions in property deals, they don't care about legal technicalities anymore. They operate like organized crime.”
“They think they can terrorize my daughter to force my hand,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I pulled my hospital ID badge off my lanyard and tossed it onto the desk. “They made a tactical error, Detective.”
“What’s that?” Miller asked.
“They assumed I would wait for them to make the next move.” I opened a side drawer and pulled out a sleek, government-issued burner phone that Detective Miller had given me weeks ago. “The email tracking metadata. Can your cyber-crime unit trace the IP address?”
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Miller’s eyes brightened with sudden comprehension. “The coffee shop where Sophie was attacked. The attacker dropped a burner phone into the bushes when she pepper-sprayed him. Our crime lab recovered it an hour ago. The signal is pinging from an abandoned warehouse district on the industrial docks.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” I asked, grabbing my leather jacket. “Let’s go crash their board meeting.”
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