Chapter 2
The harsh fluorescent lights flickered once, casting long, skeletal shadows across the linoleum floor of the hospital room. Liam stared blankly at the plastic evidence bag resting in the female officer’s gloved hands. The heavy iron cuffs inside gleamed with a dull, menacing sheen under the artificial glare, tiny flakes of dried red crusting near the rusted hinges. He swallowed hard, his throat burning as if he had swallowed glass. Eleanor picked herself up from the floor, smoothing down the immaculate fabric of her purple suit with slow, deliberate gestures, her eyes never leaving his face.
“That vehicle is shared,” Liam managed to say, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low rumble. “Anyone could have placed those cuffs in the glove compartment. You know how many people have access to my driveway.”
“The fingerprint dust on the latch hasn’t dried yet, Mr. Vance,” the female officer replied, stepping further into the cramped room to block any potential escape route. Her partner rested a heavy hand on his duty belt, eyes darting nervously between Liam’s clenched fists and Chloe’s huddled form on the mattress.
Chloe whimpered softly, pulling the pink hospital blanket higher over her shoulders to shield herself from the escalating confrontation. The digital monitors continued their relentless, synchronized beeping, marking the agonizing passage of every second. Liam’s mind raced through the events of the past forty-eight hours, trying desperately to piece together how a routine weekend visit had morphed into a nightmare of accusations and metal chains.
Eleanor took a deliberate step forward, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper meant only for Liam’s ears. “You cannot outrun the foundation’s reach, Liam. We built your entire life, and we can dismantle it before the sun sets.”
The ringing of Liam’s phone cut through the tense air like a knife. He pulled the device from his pocket with a trembling hand, the screen illuminating his pale, sweat-slicked face. The caller ID simply read: Unknown Private Network.
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He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his thumb hovering over the green acceptance button, before slowly bringing the speaker to his ear.
“Dad?” a digitized, distorted voice whispered through the receiver. “Don’t trust the woman in purple. She has the master key to the archive.”
