Chapter 5 - The Trap Springs ShutThe tires of my SUV screeched to a halt in the ambulance bay of St. Catherine’s Medical Center. I threw the door open, sprinted through the automatic glass doors, and bolted down the private elevator toward the intensive care unit.
When I burst into the ICU hallway, the scene was sheer chaos.
Three nurses in blood-splattered scrubs were rushing out of Claire’s room carrying emergency defibrillator equipment, while Dr. Bennett stood over her bed pumping her chest with rhythmic, desperate force.
"Come on, Claire! Stay with us! Breathe!" Dr. Bennett shouted over the shrill, unbroken tone of the heart monitor flatlining.
I slammed my hands against the glass observation window, my voice tearing from my throat in a primal scream of pure anguish. "Claire! Don't you dare leave me! You promised me we’d build the future together!"
For thirty agonizing seconds, time stopped. The flatline tone rang out like a death knell in my ears, erasing my billions, my empire, my success, and leaving me with nothing more than the raw, bleeding core of a man who was about to lose his soulmate.
Then, the monitor spiked.
A ragged, erratic green wave flickered back across the screen.
Beep... beep... beep.
"We have a pulse!" one of the nurses yelled, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Blood pressure is stabilizing! She’s fighting her way back!"
I collapsed against the glass wall, sliding down until my knees hit the cold linoleum floor, burying my face in my hands as heavy, shuddering sobs wrung every ounce of strength from my body. She was alive. For now, she had beaten death back into the shadows.
"Mr. Sloane?"
I looked up, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Standing over me wasn't Dr. Bennett, but Detective Marcus Vance—no, Detective Miller of the Seattle Police Department’s Major Financial Crimes and Homicide Division, accompanied by two uniformed officers.
"Mason Sloane?" Detective Miller asked formally, stepping forward and flashing a gold badge.
I stood up slowly, my legs shaking, my face hardened into a mask of stone. "I'm Mason Sloane. What is the meaning of this?"
Detective Miller’s expression was grim. "Mr. Sloane, you need to come with us down to the precinct for questioning regarding an ongoing federal and state investigation into corporate embezzlement, international money laundering, and attempted murder."
I didn't flinch. I didn't panic. In fact, a cold, humorless smile touched the corners of my lips.
"Let me guess," I said smoothly, sliding my hands into my pockets. "The charges were filed by Vanessa Vale, and the evidence points directly to a Cayman Islands shell company called Vanguard Holdings."
Detective Miller blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at the arrest warrant folder in his hands. "How did you...?"
"Because," I interrupted, my voice cutting through the antiseptic air of the hospital corridor with lethal precision, "the person who orchestrated this entire setup is currently sitting in my corporate penthouse waiting for me to take the fall. But before you cuff me, Detective, I have a counter-offer to make."
I reached into my breast pocket, pulled out the encrypted flash drive I had retrieved from my safe, and handed it directly to the detective.
"Inside this drive is every single wire-transfer receipt, recorded confession, and forged document proving that Vanessa Vale and her co-conspirators embezzled forty-five million dollars from my company and systematically administered heavy-metal toxins to my wife," I said calmly. "Arrest me if you must, Detective. But if you want to catch the real killer before she boards a private flight out of the country this afternoon, I suggest you execute a warrant on Vanessa Vale’s penthouse suite right now."
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Detective Miller stared at the flash drive in his hand, then looked up at me, weighing the risk in a split-second decision. He snapped his notebook shut, turned to his officers, and gave a sharp nod.
"Lock down the perimeter around Sloane Tower," Detective Miller ordered. "We're going to pay Ms. Vale a visit."
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