Chapter 7 - A Wire in the Penthouse
I tilted my head back, letting the cold water touch my lips. But I didn't swallow a single drop.
Instead, using a silicone diversion straw hidden against my palm, I allowed the liquid to bypass my throat and drain silently into an absorbent medical reservoir pouch concealed under the thick folds of my winter scarf. To Marcus, watching from the driver’s seat through his peripheral vision, it looked like I had guzzled half the bottle in three desperate gulps.
I let out a weak cough, leaned back into the leather headrest, and let my eyelids flutter shut.
""Good girl,"" Marcus muttered under his breath, a sinister smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Within four minutes, I began my performance. I let my breathing become slow, shallow, and ragged. My head rolled loosely against the window, my jaw slackened, and my arms dropped limp into my lap.
Marcus glanced over, waving a hand in front of my face. ""Sofia? Can you hear me?""
I didn't blink. I didn't twitch. I remained as still as a corpse.
Marcus let out a triumphant bark of laughter. He tapped the Bluetooth dialer on his steering wheel. ""Julian, she’s out cold. The cocktail hit her even faster than last time. She drank half the bottle.""
Julian’s voice boomed through the speakers, sharp, excited, and utterly devoid of human empathy. ""Outstanding. We just arrived at the private hangar in Denton. Vanessa is finalizing the flight clearance for Zurich right now. The wire from the Swiss intermediary just hit the escrow account—twelve million dollars.""
""What about the family trust?"" Marcus asked, stepping on the gas.
""The forged medical conservatorship decree was electronically stamped ten minutes ago by our clerk at the courthouse,"" Julian laughed, pure arrogance dripping from every syllable. ""By the time anyone realizes Sofia never left Sterling’s operating room, we’ll be outside the extradition treaty. Sterling is waiting at the back delivery bay. Back the Escalade straight into the loading dock so no street cameras catch the transfer.""
""Got it,"" Marcus said, his eyes gleaming with greed. ""See you in Switzerland, brother.""
Through my micro-pearl brooch, every single syllable, every frequency, and every GPS coordinate was transmitting in real-time to the FBI surveillance vans trailing three hundred yards behind us in the blind spots of the highway.
Twenty minutes later, the Escalade pulled off the tollway and navigated into an industrial medical park in West Plano.
We drove around the back of an nondescript, single-story brick building labeled Sterling Wellness & Aesthetic Institute. A heavy steel commercial roll-up door opened automatically, and Marcus backed the vehicle into the dimly lit, sterile loading bay.
The steel door rumbled shut behind us, cutting off the sunlight.
The car stopped. The passenger door swung open.
A tall man in surgical scrubs and a sterile mask stepped forward, accompanied by a woman holding a stainless-steel tray. It was Dr. Arthur Sterling.
""Is she completely sedated?"" Sterling demanded in a clipped, nervous voice, shining a penlight directly into my closed eyes.
""Out like a light,"" Marcus replied, grabbing my shoulders to pull me out of the seat. ""Let’s get her onto the gurney. The transport cooler is in the trunk. The pilot wants the organ harvest wrapped up in forty-five minutes flat.""
May you like
Sterling placed two fingers on my carotid artery. ""Her pulse is surprisingly firm. Get the IV line prepped immediately. We administer the paralytic first.""
As Marcus reached under my arms to drag me onto the cold steel surgical gurney, I opened my eyes.
