Chapter 7 - The Shadow in the Storage
I pressed my back against the metal lockers, holding my breath. My heart was pounding so hard I was terrified the killer would hear it echoing in the narrow corridor.
"You're a nurse, Ethan," the voice continued, getting closer. "You save lives. You don't know how this world works. Your brother got greedy. He thought he could shake down powerful people for ten million dollars."
Lies, I thought, gripping the folder tightly. Mason was trying to expose them, not blackmails them.
"Your wife was foolish enough to help him," the gunman said. His footsteps stopped just around the corner from Hall C. "And your poor little boy... well, he drank the milk, didn't he? Tragic accident."
I reached into my scrub pocket and felt the heavy brass key. I needed a distraction.
To my left was a maintenance trolley left behind by a janitor, loaded with metal spray cans and heavy cleaning tools. Silently, I slid my hand over and grabbed a heavy steel wrench.
I threw the wrench as hard as I could down Hall A—the opposite direction.
CRASH!
The heavy tool slammed into the metal lockers, echoing loudly through the facility.
"There!" the gunman shouted. Footsteps heavy and fast rushed away from Hall C toward Hall A.
It was my only chance.
I bolted down Hall C, sprinting through the darkness toward the emergency fire exit at the far end of the corridor. I slammed my body against the panic bar.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The loud alarm screamed through the facility as the heavy steel door burst open into an alleyway behind the building.
"Stop him!" a voice shouted behind me.
SUPPRESSED GUNSHOTS—PWT! PWT!
Bullets slammed into the brick wall right next to my head, showering me with red dust and concrete chips. I didn't stop. I threw myself over a chain-link fence, tumbling onto the asphalt of the alley, scraping my arms and knees.
I scrambled to my feet and ran into the morning traffic of downtown Denver, blending into the crowd of morning commuters exiting the light rail station.
I was breathing heavily, covered in dirt, blood, and sweat. I had the files. I had the micro-drive. But now I knew the truth: Noah and Laura were in immediate danger at St. Mercy Hospital. Detective Vance was keeping them isolated so her husband's hitmen could finish the job and eradicate all witnesses.
I needed help. Real help.
I ducked into a small coffee shop, bought a cheap prepaid burner phone with cash from my wallet, and dialed a number I had memorized years ago—the direct line for the FBI Field Office in Denver.
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"Federal Bureau of Investigation," a crisp female agent answered.
"My name is Ethan Walker," I said, my voice shaking with adrenaline. "I am holding the physical evidence of the Apex Bio-Tech corporate conspiracy and the attempted murder of my family by Mayor Vance's network. And I need tactical intervention at St. Mercy Hospital right now."
