Chapter 9
The private transport ambulance moved smoothly down the winding mountain road, escorted by two black security sedans. Inside the spacious cabin, Sarah lay comfortably secured on the gurney, her right leg immobilized in an inflatable cast. Dr. Hayes monitored her vitals while Emma slept soundly in an adjacent seat, her head resting on a plush travel pillow.
Arthur sat in the rear captain’s chair, his encrypted tablet resting on his lap. The glow of the screen illuminated the sharp, severe lines of his face as he scrolled through incoming intelligence reports.
“How are you feeling, Sarah?” Arthur asked quietly, not wanting to wake the child.
“The morphine is working,” Sarah murmured, turning her head toward her father. “My leg is numb, but my mind is clear. Dad... what happened with the Boston clinic records? Did David’s lawyers ever suspect anything?”
Arthur looked up from his tablet, his eyes steady. “No. I had the records sealed under a Department of Defense classification protocol six months ago. Even if he manages to hire a high-priced defense attorney from behind bars, they will never breach the firewall. Legally and biologically, David has zero leverage.”
Sarah looked over at her sleeping daughter, watching the gentle rise and fall of Emma’s chest. “He looked so small tonight, Dad. When you walked through that door, all that arrogance just vanished. He was nothing but a bully who thought he owned the world.”
“Bullies always look small when the law catches up to them,” Arthur replied. “His firm will be liquidated by the end of the week. The receiver will seize every asset in his name, including the house, the cars, and the accounts. By next month, the Bennett name will be synonymous with federal corruption.”
Sarah closed her eyes, letting out a long, heavy breath she felt like she had been holding for five years. “It’s finally over.”
Arthur didn't answer immediately. He stared at his tablet screen, his brow furrowing slightly as a high-priority alert flashed red against the black interface.
Sarah noticed the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Dad? What is it?”
Arthur tapped the screen, opening an encrypted voice transmission. He plugged a small earpiece into his ear, listening intently for nearly thirty seconds without saying a single word. His jaw tightened again, the familiar predatory coldness returning to his eyes.
“Confirm the coordinates,” Arthur said into the microphone in a low, clipped whisper. “Keep a three-car perimeter on the transport route and notify the tactical team at the private hangar. We do not deviate from the secondary protocol.”
He removed the earpiece and set the tablet facedown on his knees.
“Dad,” Sarah said, her heart rate monitor giving a slight, elevated beep on the console. “Tell me what just happened. Is David trying to make bail?”
“David isn't making bail,” Arthur replied, his voice calm but undeniably guarded. “A federal magistrate just denied bond on all counts. He is being transferred directly to the Metropolitan Detention Center.”
“Then what was that call?” Sarah pressed, trying to sit up slightly, ignoring the dull ache in her injured limb. “Who was on that line?”
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Arthur looked at his daughter, his expression unreadable. “When the federal agents breached David’s private safe at the corporate office, they didn't just find offshore accounts and forged contracts, Sarah.”
Sarah’s breath hitched. “What else was in there?”
