Chapter 6: The Exit Strategy
The service elevator chimed softly, opening directly into the dim, cavernous loading bay of Saint Jude Memorial. The air smelled of diesel exhaust, damp concrete, and industrial cleaning agents. Overhead, yellow sodium lights cast a sickly glow over towering stacks of empty cardboard boxes and rolling laundry bins.
Nurse Clara led them briskly toward the side exit, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking against the damp floor. “The alley leads straight to Tenth Street,” she whispered, not daring to look back at the two men. “There’s a cab stand half a block up. Avoid the main boulevard; hospital security patrols are concentrated there until four in the morning.”
Vance nodded curtly, shifting the bassinet slightly to get a better grip. “Thank you, Clara. You did the right thing tonight. No one’s going to mention your name in the police report.”
Clara offered a weak, tight-lipped smile before turning back toward the elevator bank, eager to vanish into the antiseptic safety of the upper floors. Julian and Vance moved swiftly toward the heavy steel exit door, pushing it open to let in the cool, biting night air of the city.
The alley was narrow, flanked by towering brick facades that trapped the chill. A light mist was beginning to fall, slicking the asphalt with a dangerous sheen of water and oil. Julian pulled his ruined suit jacket tighter around his shoulders, shivering as the damp wind hit his sweat-soaked shirt.
“My car is parked three blocks away in a public lot,” Julian said, peering down the dark stretch of pavement. “If my father’s security team has any sense, they’ve already spotted my plates. We need to move fast.”
Vance stopped abruptly, holding up a large, calloused hand to halt Julian. He scanned the shadows near the dumpster enclosures at the end of the alley. His eyes, trained by years of surviving environments far harsher than corporate boardrooms, picked up the subtle gleam of headlights reflecting off a wet brick wall fifty yards ahead.
“Hold up,” Vance murmured. “There’s a black sedan idling by the corner. No lights on, but the exhaust is steaming. That’s Henderson.”
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. “How did he get down here so fast? My dad must have texted him from the room while we were arguing.”
“Sterling’s always three steps ahead on paper,” Vance replied, his voice dangerously calm as he set the bassinet down gently inside the recessed doorway of a shuttered bakery. He rolled up his black shirt sleeves, exposing forearms covered in intricate, faded ink. “Pad the kid’s blanket. Keep her warm. I’m going to have a little conversation with Mr. Henderson.”
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“Marcus, wait—we don’t need violence,” Julian protested, grabbing Vance’s elbow. “We can slip through the courtyard behind the laundromat.”
Vance turned his head, his dark eyes locked onto Julian with unwavering intensity. “I’m not going to hurt him, kid. I’m just going to borrow his keys so we don’t have to walk three blocks in the freezing rain with a newborn. Stay here.”
