Chapter 6
The digital display on the elevator read ground floor, the descending numbers ticking down with agonizing slowness. Mark slammed his fist against the call button repeatedly, his chest heaving as the adrenaline surged through his veins.
“We have to go after them!” Mark yelled, turning to face Detective Vance. “She has a weapon? How did she get a weapon past the building security?”
Sarah Vance didn’t flinch. She strode toward the elevator banks, pulling her service weapon from its holster and executing a swift tactical check of the magazine.
“Elena Brooks isn't just an ordinary relative, Mr. Hayes,” Sarah said, her voice dropping into a cold, professional register. “Her corporate bio lists her as a consultant for private security firms. She knows every blind spot in this building's surveillance architecture.”
Mark groaned, running his hands over his short dark hair in sheer despair. “She framed me. She emptied the safe. And now she’s taken Clara... my God, Clara is six months pregnant! The stress alone could—”
“Shut up and listen,” Sarah interrupted sharply, grabbing Mark by the shoulder and pulling him back as the elevator bell chimed and the doors slid open to reveal an empty car.
The interior of the elevator smelled faintly of expensive perfume and ozone. On the brushed steel wall near the control panel, a small smear of fresh blood stained the metal. Sarah stepped inside first, her eyes scanning the corners before gesturing for Mark to follow.
They descended in heavy silence. The digital floor indicators flashed past: 12, 11, 10, dropping rapidly toward the subterranean parking garage and the main lobby. Mark stared at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator car. He looked pale, hollowed out, a stranger staring back at him through the wreckage of his own life.
When the car finally chimed at the ground floor, the doors parted to reveal a scene of absolute chaos.
The sleek marble lobby was deserted save for one slumped figure behind the mahogany front desk. The building security guard, a middle-aged man in a navy uniform, was tied securely to his swivel chair with heavy-duty zip ties, a strip of duct tape sealed firmly across his mouth.
Mark rushed forward, sliding across the slick floor to untangle the guard while Detective Vance swept the perimeter with her weapon drawn.
“Hold on, I’ve got you,” Mark muttered, ripping the tape away from the guard’s face with a swift, harsh motion.
The guard gasped, sucking in a lungful of air, his eyes wide with terror as he grabbed Mark’s grey jacket with both hands.
“She... she didn't walk out the front,” the guard choked out, coughing violently. “She took the service freight elevator down to the sub-level garage. She had a silver sedan waiting... and she dragged Mrs. Hayes into the back seat screaming.”
Mark dropped his hands, staring blankly at the guard. “Sub-level garage? But the keycard for the freight lift requires executive clearance.”
Before the guard could answer, Sarah Vance’s radio crackled to life with a burst of heavy static followed by an urgent dispatcher voice.
“Unit four, this is dispatch. We have a 911 transfer from a burner phone originating two blocks north. Caller claims a hostage situation is currently mobile in a black SUV heading toward the interstate.”
Detective Vance pressed her radio mic against her shoulder. “This is Vance. I’m at the primary scene. The suspect switched vehicles in the garage. Track the toll cameras on Route 9 immediately.”
Mark spun around, his eyes locking onto the glass exit doors of the lobby. Outside, a torrential downpour had begun, sheeting rain across the concrete streets.
“We’re taking my car,” Mark said, his voice hard, resolve hardening over his panic. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys.
Sarah Vance grabbed his wrist with a grip like steel, stopping him dead in his tracks.
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“You’re not driving anywhere, Mr. Hayes,” Sarah said coldly, holding up a small, sleek object she had just retrieved from the security desk counter. “Look at what your sister-in-law left behind for you to find.”
Mark stared down at the object resting in the detective’s palm. It was his own personal smartphone, which he was certain he had left on the living room sofa just minutes ago. The screen was lit up, displaying a live video feed of an empty hospital room.
