Chapter 8 - The Unexpected Ally
The passenger window of the black sedan slid down smoothly, revealing the sharp, lined face of Detective Marcus Vance. He was off-duty, wearing a creased grey trench coat, but the silver badge clipped to his belt glinted under the flickering alley light.
"Get in, Miller, before I arrest you for pulling a fire exit alarm," Detective Vance said, his voice gravelly and exhausted.
Jax hesitated for a fraction of a second, eyeing the back seat. "You're Director Vance's brother, aren't you? The one department head who didn't take Clara’s corporate campaign donations."
"And the only reason you aren't currently bleeding out in a holding cell," Marcus retorted, gesturing impatiently with his chin toward the open door. "Move. Clara’s private security detail is sweeping this entire block. If they catch you violating that restraining order, they won't call the police—they'll just make you disappear."
Jax yanked the rear door open and slid his heavy frame into the back seat, slamming it shut behind him. The sedan lurched forward into the night, tires squealing as Marcus navigated the narrow hospital service roads to avoid the blaring alarms.
"Why are you helping me, Detective?" Jax asked, leaning forward between the front seats, his bruised knuckles resting on the console. "Your sister is ready to hand my daughter over to a monster on a silver platter."
Marcus gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he navigated a sharp turn. "My sister reads the paperwork put in front of her by the district attorney’s office. She doesn't see the shadow game Clara Miller has been playing for ten years. But I do."
Jax narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Ten years ago, when you took the fall for the embezzlement at Miller Logistics, I was the lead detective on the initial forensic audit," Marcus said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I knew you didn't steal those millions. Your signature was forged—badly. But the D.A. at the time shut the investigation down overnight. Direct orders from the state attorney general’s office. An office that Clara’s current corporate law firm happened to fund entirely."
Jax felt the air leave his lungs. The reality he had suspected for a decade was finally being spoken aloud, raw and undeniable. "She framed me so she could take complete control of the company and our assets while I was locked away."
"She needed a patsy with a rough background—someone the jury would believe was capable of white-collar crime," Marcus added, glancing at Jax in the rearview mirror. "And she used your daughter as insurance to keep you quiet while you were inside. 'Keep your mouth shut, Jax, or Chloe grows up without a mother either.'"
"And now she tried to bake my little girl alive just to force me to sign away the last of my offshore shares," Jax growled, the dark fury rising back up from the depths of his chest like suffocating smoke.
"Which brings us to right now," Marcus said, pulling the sedan into the shadows of an abandoned multi-story parking garage downtown. He shifted into park and turned around to face Jax. "Clara is moving Chloe out of the county hospital tonight. She's transferring her to a private, unlicensed concierge clinic in the financial district—a facility completely off the grid."
Jax’s hand slammed against the back of the front seat, splintering the plastic trim. "When?"
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"In twenty minutes," Marcus replied, handing Jax a heavy, cold metallic object wrapped in a black cloth. "And if you want to stop her, you're going to need more than bare fists."
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