Chapter 7 - The Trap Snaps Shut
"DON'T DO IT, DANIEL!" Detective Miller's voice boomed through a megaphone, cutting through the ringing smoke.
"TAKE YOUR HAND OFF THAT GLOCK OR WE PUT TWENTY ROUNDS THROUGH YOUR CHEST!"
Daniel froze, illuminated by twenty tactical weapon lights that turned the garage brighter than the midday Arizona sun.
He looked at the armored officers swarming the perimeter, rifles raised, assault shields forming an impenetrable wall of steel.
His handsome face twisted into a mask of pure, rabid fury as he realized the impossible:
He had not been ambushed by syndicate competitors; he had been dismantled by the law.
Slowly, deliberately, Daniel raised his hands into the air, taking two trembling steps away from the medical gurney.
"You're making a catastrophic mistake, officers," Daniel sneered, his voice shaking with arrogant defiance.
"I am transporting my legally wedded wife to a private medical facility for emergency neurological care.
I hold medical power of attorney and full spousal guardianship!"
Detective Miller stepped through the line of tactical shields, holstering his weapon as two SWAT operators pinned Markov to the floor.
"Your spousal guardianship was voided four hours ago by an emergency federal court injunction, Mr. Vance," Miller replied calmly.
"Along with your fraudulent marriage certificate executed under an alias in Clark County."
Daniel scoffed loudly, spitting onto the concrete.
"You have zero proof of any medical wrongdoing! She suffered a sudden stroke at dinner!
Check her toxicology! She has a medically approved sleep aid in her system, nothing more!
You can't prove a single crime!"
I reached down, unsnapped the heavy nylon restraint belts across my chest, and pushed myself upright on the aluminum gurney.
I swung my legs over the edge of the stretcher, standing up on my own two feet on the cold concrete garage floor.
I smoothed down my woolen cardigan, pulled the micro-transmitter off my collarbone, and looked straight into my husband's eyes.
Daniel's jaw dropped open in utter, paralyzing horror, his eyes bulging as if he were staring at a ghost rising from the grave.
"Margaret...?" Daniel choked out, his voice cracking into a high, pathetic squeak.
"You... you were unconscious! You drank the tea!"
"I poured your poisoned tea into the eucalyptus vase, Daniel," I said, my voice carrying clean and cold across the garage.
"Just like I took the sample from three days ago to Dr. Reynolds.
We heard every word you spoke to Victor on that satellite phone.
We heard the price of my liver: ten million dollars."
The color drained from Daniel's face until he looked like a wax mannequin melting beneath the blinding tactical lights.
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Two tactical officers slammed him forward onto the hood of his Aston Martin, twisting his arms behind his back with iron handcuffs.
The great predator of the medical underworld had been hunted down, baited, and trapped by a sixty-four-year-old schoolteacher.
