Chapter 5 - The Midnight Lockout
The line was quiet for five seconds. When Robert spoke again, the sleep was entirely gone from his voice, replaced by the terrifying, cold composure of a man who commanded an empire.
"Is she breathing?" Robert asked.
"Yes. But she has a broken wrist, scalp lacerations, and severe contusions."
"Where are you?"
"Mount Sinai ER."
"I’m at my Aspen home," Robert said. "My pilots are prepping the Gulfstream right now. I’ll touch down at Teterboro by 7:15 AM. Sarah, call Marcus Vance immediately. Tell him I authorized full retainer. He’ll meet you at the hospital with two armed executive protection officers."
Marcus Vance was the most ruthless criminal and litigation attorney in the state—and Robert’s personal fixer.
"Robert," I whispered, glancing through the glass window at Chloe, who was curled on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the sterile wall. "They knew about the condo. Victoria wanted her to sign a Quitclaim Deed tonight."
"They won't get a penny," Robert replied, his tone chillingly flat. "They just bought themselves a one-way ticket to state prison. Don't leave her alone. My security team will be outside her room in twenty minutes."
I returned to Chloe's side, holding her uninjured hand until she finally drifted into an exhausted, medically assisted sleep.
At 6:30 AM, two burly men in charcoal suits stationed themselves outside the room. Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated. It was a security alert from the smart doorbell of my apartment building.
I opened the video feed.
Standing on my front porch were Lewis and his mother, Victoria.
Victoria was wearing a designer trench coat, her hair impeccably styled, but her right hand was wrapped in a white bandage where Chloe had bitten her. Lewis stood beside her, pacing nervously, wearing dark sunglasses to hide his eyes, an expensive cashmere overcoat draped over his broad shoulders.
Lewis pressed the buzzer repeatedly.
When no one answered, Victoria turned toward the camera. Even through the low-resolution digital lens, her expression was monstrous—arrogant, entitled, and furious.
"Sarah!" Victoria called out, her voice loud enough to echo in the hallway. "Open this door! We know Chloe is in there! She stole family jewelry from the suite before she ran away. If you don't open this door right now, we are filing grand larceny charges with the NYPD!"
I activated the two-way microphone on the app.
"Smile for the camera, Victoria," I said coldly.
Both of them snapped their heads toward the small black lens beside the doorframe.
"Sarah," Lewis stepped closer, trying to force a calm, persuasive voice. "Mom and I just want to talk. There was a terrible misunderstanding last night. Chloe was hysterical. She drank too much. We want to take care of her."
"The forensic team at Mount Sinai has already extracted your mother’s skin cells from under Chloe’s fingernails, Lewis," I said. "And the NYPD domestic violence unit has already taken our preliminary statement."
Lewis’s face drained of color.
May you like
Victoria, however, stepped right up to the camera, her face twisting into a sneer. "Listen to me, you pathetic little clerk. You think a few bruises will hold up in court against my family? Lewis is a partner at a white-shoe firm. My late husband was a federal judge. We own half the magistrates in this district. You sign that condo over, or we will drag your daughter’s name through every tabloid in the city. We’ll say she’s an addict. We’ll ruin her!"
"Keep talking," I said softly. "The cloud server is recording every single syllable."
