Chapter 9 - The Live Feed
The small OLED screen of Clara’s phone began flashing a silent, blinking red light as the live video feed streamed in real-time. Eleanor was the first to reach the coffee table, her sharp eyes scanning the high-definition footage transmitted from a hidden pinhole camera mounted inside a concrete industrial loft.
"Look at this," Eleanor whispered, motioning for her father and Doctor Harrison to crowd around the low table.
On the screen, a dimly lit room filled with stacked wooden crates and high-end server racks came into view. But it was the figures moving among the equipment that made the blood run cold in their veins. Two men in tactical black gear—bearing no official federal insignia—were systematically dousing the floor with industrial-grade accelerant.
"They're burning the evidence," Mr. Sterling muttered, his hands gripping the edge of the mahogany table so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Julian didn't just leave documents there; he left a digital kill-switch. If that warehouse goes up in flames, every financial trail, every forged signature, and every shred of proof exonerating Clara vanishes into ash."
Clara struggled to prop herself up on her elbows, squinting at the tiny screen. "That’s... that’s not Julian’s handwriting on those shipping crates. Those are munitions markings. My God, he was working with international arms dealers?"
"He was laundering dirty money through our medical grants to fund weapons procurement," Doctor Harrison added, adjusting his glasses as he stared at the screen in horror. "Julian wasn't just a corporate thief; he was a liability to people far more dangerous than we ever imagined."
A sudden crash echoed through the audio feed on the phone, followed by shouts in German. One of the tactical men inside the warehouse dropped a heavy steel canister, spilling a pool of dark liquid across the concrete floor right beneath a massive server rack containing the master database.
"We have less than ten minutes before they torch the building," Eleanor said, her voice entirely devoid of fear, replaced instead by a cold, razor-sharp determination. She turned to Doctor Harrison. "Can Clara travel if we stabilize her with a localized nerve block?"
Doctor Harrison hesitated, looking between Eleanor’s unyielding gaze and Clara’s pale, sweat-slicked face. "It’s dangerous. Extremely dangerous. If the physical trauma triggers another contraction wave en route, she could suffer internal hemorrhaging."
"If we don't go, the federal government will find those arms manifests with Clara’s forged signature, and she will spend the rest of her life behind bars while her newborn child is placed in state custody," Eleanor countered, leaving no room for argument. "Choose your risk, Doctor."
Clara swallowed hard, wiping the remaining moisture from her cheeks. She reached out and grabbed Eleanor’s wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Let’s go. I won't let that monster destroy my child's future from a prison cell."
Mr. Sterling reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a heavy set of brass keys to his armored vintage Mercedes limousine parked in the underground garage. "Take my car. It’s reinforced against small arms fire. And take Marcus with you as a medical escort. I’ll stay behind to coordinate with the federal director."
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As Eleanor and Doctor Harrison helped Clara off the sofa toward the private elevator leading down to the garage, the video feed on the phone flickered, showing a spark of flame ignite against the concrete floor of the distant warehouse.
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