Chapter 6 - The Broken Alibi
The security guard’s thick fingers grazed the brim of Clara’s dirty baseball cap, his flashlight beam flickering directly over her trembling hands. The air in the subterranean corridor felt thick and suffocating. Clara braced herself, her muscles tightening to bolt, even though she knew she stood zero chance against a trained, heavy-set man in a foot chase while carrying a toddler.
Suddenly, a loud, static-filled burst erupted from the guard’s walkie-talkie. "Sector Four, report! We’ve got movement near the East Gate loading dock. The catering van is pulling out! Move your team up there right now!"
The guard dropped his hand away from Clara’s hat, cursing under his breath. He glared at her one last time before shouting to his partner, "Forget this section, let's go!" Both men pivoted on their heels and sprinted back down the corridor toward the exit stairs.
Clara exhaled a breath she didn't realize she’d been holding, her knees trembling so violently she had to lean against a commercial washing machine to keep from collapsing. She waited until the sound of their heavy boots faded entirely into the distance before moving. Clutching Lily tightly, she hurried out through the propped-open loading dock doors and into the crisp night air.
The white catering van was just shifting into gear, its tires crunching on the gravel drive. Without hesitation, Clara sprinted across the asphalt, waving her arms frantically. "Wait! Stop!"
The driver slammed on the brakes, leaning out of the window with an annoyed expression. "Hey, private property back here! You can't—" The driver cut himself off as he stared at the woman standing before him: wearing oversized janitorial coveralls, a dirty baseball cap, and peeking out from underneath, the unmistakable hem of an expensive off-the-shoulder white bridal gown, with a toddler in a pink party dress resting on her hip.
"Please," Clara panted, tears finally spilling over her lashes. "My husband... he tried to hurt my baby. If you don't take us off this property right now, he's going to find us."
The middle-aged driver’s face softened instantly. Without another word, he reached across the console and pushed the passenger door open. "Get in the back floorboard. Cover yourselves with these thermal blankets. Don't make a sound."
Ten minutes later, the van rolled past the estate's wrought-iron security gates without being stopped, blending seamlessly into the late-night traffic of the city. Clara stared out the window, watching the grand estate fade into the distance. She was safe for the moment, but as she checked her pockets for her phone and found them entirely empty, a terrifying reality set in: she had no money, no identification, and no place to sleep.
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Her phone had been left sitting on the vanity in the bridal suite upstairs. And worse yet, stored securely inside the cloud-synced photo gallery of that exact missing phone were hundreds of high-definition, time-stamped images documenting Julian’s financial fraud—evidence she had gathered over the past year regarding his illegal shell companies, which she had planned to expose during their honeymoon toast.
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