Chapter 8
Marcus’s beat-up silver sedan pulled up to the curb with a sputtering cough, its engine rattling like a box of metal bolts. The passenger side door swung open from the inside before the car had even fully come to a halt. Clara didn't hesitate; she dove into the vehicle, pulling the door shut behind her with a heavy metallic click that felt like a sanctuary lock.
Marcus slammed his foot on the gas, peeling away from the curb just as a black SUV turned the corner fifty yards down the boulevard. He glanced in his rearview mirror, his eyes widening behind his round-rimmed glasses.
"Was that them?" Marcus asked, his voice tight with sudden adrenaline as he navigated through the awakening city traffic.
"Yes," Clara breathed, clutching Leo tightly against her chest as the car lurched forward. "They're everywhere, Marcus. They own half the city's private security firms, and they've classified me as an unstable mental patient. If they catch us, they'll lock me away permanently and raise my son as a corporate heir."
Marcus kept his eyes fixed on the road, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. He knew the Sterling family name very well; he had spent the last two years investigating their shady land acquisitions and offshore accounts. He knew they played dirty, but using a hospital to medically kidnap a newborn and frame the mother crossed a line even he hadn't expected them to cross.
"We're going to my place," Marcus said firmly, taking a sharp turn down a narrow residential alley to shake any potential tails. "It's a small apartment above a print shop in the old district. It’s secure, and my landlord minds his own business as long as the rent is paid in cash."
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a dingy alley behind a weathered brick building. Marcus hurried Clara inside through a side entrance, up a creaking flight of wooden stairs, and into a cramped, cluttered apartment overflowing with stacks of newspapers, overflowing filing cabinets, and the smell of stale coffee. It was chaotic, but to Clara, it was the safest place on earth.
Marcus locked three separate deadbolts on the door, pulled down the heavy vinyl window blinds, and finally turned to look at Clara and the baby. His expression softened from professional journalist to genuine compassion as he saw the state of them—Clara shivering in her coarse wool blanket, her bare feet bruised and blackened from the pavement, cradling a tiny infant wrapped in a striped hospital blanket.
"Let me get you some warm water and a clean shirt," Marcus said softly, hurrying toward a small kitchenette in the corner.
May you like
Clara sat down on an old, sagging velvet armchair, finally letting her guard down just enough to exhale a long, shuddering breath. Leo stirred against her chest, letting out a tiny yawn before settling back into a peaceful sleep. Clara kissed his forehead, whispering a prayer of gratitude to whatever cosmic force had guided them into Marcus’s car.
Marcus returned with a mug of warm tea and a oversized flannel shirt, handing them to Clara with a gentle nod. "Drink this. It’ll help with the shock. We need to figure out our next move. Eleanor Sterling doesn't lose, Clara. If we stay in this city, they will eventually trace us. We need hard evidence of what they did at that hospital, or we need to get completely out of the state."
