Chapter 11 - The Cost of Fighting Back
Sophie had not been shot. The bullet had struck the metal clasp of her backpack and torn through her coat, leaving a deep cut along her shoulder. It was enough to cover Celia’s hands in blood and send the courthouse steps into chaos. Mercer pushed us behind a stone column while agents swept the street.
Reed moved toward the parking lot despite his injured shoulder.
“Where are you going?” I called.
“To find the shooter.”
“You can barely lift your arm.”
He looked back.
“Then I’ll use the other one.”
The shooter escaped through an underground passage. He left behind a rifle, a phone, and a photograph of the courthouse with my position marked in red. The phone contained only one saved number. Julian’s.
Celia was taken to a secure federal facility with Sophie. She finally admitted that she had once been Julian’s closest financial officer and had helped build the structure that hid my assets.
“I thought I was protecting my job,” she said.
“Then I realized my job was protecting a machine that hurt people.”
“Why send me the first warning?” I asked.
“Because I saw the contingency file. I knew the crash was coming.”
“You knew and didn’t stop it.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Julian told me he had people watching Sophie. I believed him.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
The flash drive had been taken from her apartment after she gave it to me. Julian had used it to erase the original files, but Celia had hidden a duplicate inside Sophie’s backpack. The federal agents recovered it from the damaged bag. The video showed the dealership garage two nights before the crash.
Lewis Grant worked beneath my car while Julian stood beside him. Victor appeared at the edge of the frame.
“Make sure she reaches the river road,” Julian said.
Grant asked what would happen if I did not. Victor answered,
“Then the next attempt will not require brakes.”
The footage ended. There was no ambiguity left. Julian had ordered the sabotage. The victory lasted six hours.
That evening, the rehabilitation nonprofit received an anonymous complaint accusing me of abusing prescription medication and threatening staff. The director told Priya that the board had voted to evict me until the allegations could be investigated.
“They can’t remove an injured patient without notice,” Priya said.
“They can if the donor who funds the building calls in a favor,” the director replied.
The donor was the Vale Renewal Foundation. We packed my belongings while agents searched for another safe placement. Tessa arrived with a duffel bag and a determined expression.
“You’re coming to my house,” she said.
“Tessa—”
“It has three locks, a loud dog, and a neighbor who watches everything.”
“You have a dog?”
“My neighbor does. I borrow him when necessary.”
Her house was a narrow brick building above a laundromat. The living room smelled of coffee and eucalyptus. Photographs covered one wall: Tessa’s children, grandchildren, and a young man in a baseball uniform.
“Your son?” I asked.
“My brother, Mateo.”
He had been killed in a warehouse accident ten years earlier. Tessa had kept his photograph because, she said, grief needed somewhere to sit. At midnight, the electricity went out. The dog began barking downstairs.
Tessa pushed me behind the kitchen wall and called Reed. Priya pulled the curtains closed. A vehicle stopped outside. Someone tried the back door.
The lock held once, then twice. On the third attempt, the frame splintered. Tessa picked up a cast-iron skillet.
“You’re a nurse,” I whispered.
“I contain multitudes.”
The door burst inward. Reed arrived before the intruder reached the stairs. He tackled the man against the kitchen table, but the attacker cut Reed’s hand and fled through the broken door. He left behind a small black case.
Inside was a syringe, a roll of medical tape, and the hospital badge stolen two nights earlier. The same man had tried to remove me from the hospital. Reed examined the case beneath the flashlight beam.
“This was meant for you,” he said.
“What is it?”
May you like
He removed a folded paper from the lining. It was an order for my involuntary psychiatric evaluation, signed by the compromised judge. The date was tomorrow. Before we could decide where to go, every phone in the house began vibrating at once.
An emergency news alert appeared on each screen. Julian Vale had released a statement accusing me of orchestrating the crash for money.
