Chapter 15 - The Trap in Room 304
The victory in court sent shockwaves through our company and the public at large.
Protesters gathered outside the courthouse, chanting against the two-tiered justice system that favored billionaires.
Meanwhile, Julian was transported via luxury private ambulance to the Vance estate on Long Island.
Caleb and I returned to the research institute in silence, the weight of the court’s betrayal pressing hard against our chests.
Caleb knew the medical records had been falsified; as a former hospital administrator, he recognized the forged markers on the scans.
He called in a favor with Dr. Henderson, a senior cardiologist at the state prison who had been abruptly replaced two weeks ago.
Henderson agreed to meet Caleb secretly at an abandoned diner off the Queens expressway late that evening.
I insisted on going with him, refusing to let Caleb walk into danger alone while my family was under siege.
We left our phones behind to avoid digital tracking and took an unmarked sedan driven by Marcus.
The rain battered the windshield in ferocious sheets as we arrived at the dimly lit parking lot of the diner.
Dr. Henderson was waiting in the back booth, his coat collar pulled high, his hands trembling around a paper cup of coffee.
He told us that Julian Vance was never ill; his vitals had been artificially manipulated using rare beta-blockers provided by an outside courier.
The doctor who signed the final medical transfer was not a prison physician, but an operative hired by Edward Vance’s shell company.
Henderson handed Caleb a flash drive containing the authentic, unadulterated medical telemetry showing Julian was in perfect health.
Suddenly, the headlights of two black SUVs illuminated the cracked windows of the diner, blinding us with halogen beams.
Marcus cursed under his breath, drawing his firearm as the diner’s front glass shattered in an explosion of gunfire.
Men in tactical gear and balaclavas swarmed the entrance, moving with ruthless, professional precision.
Caleb threw his body over mine, shoving me down beneath the booth’s heavy wooden table as bullets ripped through the air.
Dr. Henderson screamed as a projectile struck his shoulder, collapsing onto the linoleum floor covered in glass and blood.
Marcus returned fire, taking down the lead shooter and buying us precious seconds to scramble toward the kitchen exit.
Caleb dragged Dr. Henderson while shielding me with his own body, bullets splintering the metal doors around us.
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We burst out into the storm through the rear loading dock, sprinting toward our car while the sirens of approaching police cruisers wailed in the distance.
Edward Vance was not just playing legal games anymore; he was eliminating witnesses in cold blood.
