Chapter 5 - An Unexpected Ally
I froze.
The sound of Melissa’s laughter echoed from the hallway. They were home early.
"I'm telling you, Grant, we should book the flight to Switzerland tonight," Melissa’s voice drifted closer. "Once the insurance clears next week, we are done with this miserable city."
"Patience, Mel," Grant replied, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood. "We do this by the book. If we run too fast, the underwriters will raise a red flag."
I didn't have time to put the vent cover back on. I grabbed the plastic envelope, slipped my multi-tool into my pocket, and slid behind the heavy, floor-length velvet curtains lining the office window.
The office door opened. The light clicked on.
Grant walked in, loosening his tie. He poured himself a glass of scotch from the decanter on his desk. He walked over to the desk, his eyes scanning the room.
He paused. His eyes fell on the vent. The missing grate was leaning against the wall.
Grant’s expression hardened. He set his glass down, his hand slowly reaching toward the desk drawer. I knew what was in that drawer. A licensed 9mm semi-automatic.
My phone—which I had meticulously put on silent—began to vibrate against my thigh. Even on silent, the motor made a tiny bzzzz against the fabric of my jeans.
Grant turned his head toward the curtain. "Who's there?" he demanded, pulling the drawer open.
Before he could reach the gun, the sound of glass shattering echoed from the kitchen downstairs.
"Grant!" Melissa screamed from the living room. "What was that?!"
Grant hesitated, then turned and ran out of the office toward the noise.
I didn't waste a second. I slipped out from behind the curtain, vaulted through the open office window onto the fire escape, and scrambled down into the dark alleyway below.
As I hit the pavement, gasping for air, a figure stepped out from the shadows of the alley. I reached for my multi-tool, ready to fight.
"Don't shoot," a soft, trembling voice said.
A woman stood under the dim streetlamp. She wore a nurse's scrubs under a heavy winter coat. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror.
"You're David, aren't you?" she asked. "Emma's father."
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"Who are you?" I demanded, keeping my guard up.
"My name is Sarah," she said, her voice shaking. "I was Emma’s primary pediatric nurse before Dr. Joseph had me reassigned. I tried to warn you, David. But they blocked me. They threatened my license... and my life."
