Chapter 4 - The Midnight Ambush
""Keep the elevators locked, Frank,"" I barked into the intercom. ""Do not let anyone up without my direct clearance.""
""The children,"" Sarah gasped, her face draining of color instantly. She whipped out her smartphone and frantically dialed our babysitter, Mrs. Gable, an elderly neighbor who lived two doors down from our home.
The seconds dragged on like hours as the phone rang. One. Two. Three.
""Hello? Sarah?"" Mrs. Gable’s sweet, sleepy voice came through the receiver.
""Mrs. Gable! Are the boys okay? Are they in their beds?"" Sarah asked desperately, her voice trembling.
""Of course they are, dear. Fast asleep since eight-thirty,"" Mrs. Gable replied, sounding confused. ""Leo had a little trouble getting to sleep because of his asthma cough, but I gave him his inhaler and read them a bedtime story. Why? Is everything alright?""
""Yes, Mrs. Gable. Everything is fine. Please, do me a huge favor. Lock the front deadbolt, turn on the porch security cameras, and do not open the door for anyone. Not even my mother. If anyone knocks, call 911 immediately. Ethan and I will be home soon.""
Sarah hung up and leaned against my desk, exhaling a long, shuddering breath of relief. ""She lied. She used our babies as a lever just to get up here.""
""That is Evelyn's signature move,"" Thomas said, his hands moving quickly to gather the legal files and pack them back into the briefcase. ""She manufactures an emotional crisis to throw you off balance so you make a stupid mistake. We cannot confront her here. Not on her terms.""
I glanced back at the lobby security monitor. Evelyn was arguing aggressively with Frank, her slender finger jabbing into the air while her two private bodyguards positioned themselves near the elevator turnstiles. Frank was holding his ground, pointing at the building's after-hours security manual, but it was only a matter of minutes before Evelyn used her high-powered political connections to force the property manager out of bed.
""The service freight elevator,"" I told Thomas and Sarah, grabbing my car keys and jacket from the coat rack. ""It opens directly into the underground delivery alley behind the building. It doesn't connect to the main lobby.""
We moved quickly through the darkened office corridors, the only sound our hurried footsteps echoing against the linoleum flooring. Thomas moved with surprising agility for a man in his late sixties who had spent two decades doing hard labor on industrial docks. He held the briefcase tight against his ribs, protecting the paper trail with his life.
We boarded the massive industrial freight elevator. The metal gates clanged shut, and the heavy cables hummed as we descended rapidly into the subterranean levels of the building.
""Where do we go?"" Sarah asked, her hands clutching mine tightly in the dim yellow light of the elevator cab. ""If she knows Ethan's office, she definitely has people watching our house.""
""We go to a place she would never imagine in a million years,"" I answered. ""My brother Mark's legal practice.""
My younger brother, Mark, was a junior partner at a scrappy, aggressive litigation firm on the west side of the city. He specialized in forensic accounting, fraud, and corporate embezzlement. Mark had spent years telling me that my mother-in-law was a walking red flag, but out of respect for Sarah’s delicate feelings about her 'tragic' childhood, I had always brushed off his suspicions.
The freight elevator shuddered to a halt at the basement loading dock. The metal roll-up door opened into a narrow, dimly lit alleyway slick with evening rain.
We slipped out into the cold night. My car was parked two blocks away in an open-air public garage, far from the hotel where we were originally spotted. We kept to the shadows of the brick alleyway, moving swiftly beneath the dripping fire escapes.
Just as we rounded the corner toward the parking structure, two sharp headlight beams suddenly snapped on from an idling black SUV parked across the street. The engine revved with an aggressive roar.
""Run!"" I shouted, shoving Sarah and Thomas ahead of me into the concrete entrance of the parking garage.
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Tires screeched violently against the wet asphalt behind us. The SUV lunged forward, jumping the curb and smashing straight into the metal trash bins at the alley entrance with a deafening crash of twisted metal.
We sprinted up the concrete pedestrian ramp to the second level where my sedan was parked. My heart slammed in my ears like a war drum. This was no longer just about hidden bank accounts or stolen inheritances. Evelyn Hale was actively trying to intercept and destroy the evidence before Monday morning—and she was willing to run us down in the dark to do it.
