Chapter 2 - The St. Jude’s Emergency Room
The emergency department at St. Jude’s was a chaotic hive of activity, smelling heavily of antiseptic, bleach, and stale coffee as nurses rushed past swinging doors and families huddled in the waiting room discussing Thanksgiving travel plans. But in Trauma Bay 4, time seemed to stand completely still.
Chloe had been stabilized with IV fluids and warming blankets, her core temperature slowly creeping back up from the dangerous hypothermia levels she had suffered while abandoned on the open-air bus terminal bench. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, the harsh fluorescent lights making her wince. She looked around the sterile room in a panic, her fingers clawing frantically at the hospital sheets.
“Mom?” she rasped, her voice dry and broken. “Mom, where am I? Did... did Marcus find us? Are they coming?”
Eleanor was instantly by her side, taking Chloe’s icy, bruised hand in both of hers, pressing it gently to her cheek. “You’re safe, baby. You’re at St. Jude’s hospital, and nobody is ever going to hurt you again. Look at me, Chloe. You are safe.”
Tears spilled over Chloe’s lower lashes, cutting tracks through the pale dust on her cheeks. “They took my phone, Mom. They smashed my laptop against the kitchen island because I caught Marcus with... with that woman from his office—Victoria. Sylvia helped him. They held my arms down, screaming that I was an ungrateful parasite, that I was ruining Marcus’s career promotion, and that the CEO’s wife couldn't see a middle-class engineer at their holiday table. They dragged me out to Marcus’s car in my pajamas, threw my coat at me, and dumped me at the bus terminal at midnight in the freezing rain.”
Eleanor’s jaw tightened so hard her teeth ached. A cold, blinding wrath settled deep in her bones, but her outward demeanor remained terrifyingly calm. She smoothed back Chloe’s tangled hair. “They made a very expensive mistake, sweetheart.”
Just then, the heavy double doors of Trauma Bay 4 pushed open. A tall, broad-shouldered police captain in a crisp uniform stepped inside, accompanied by two armed patrol officers and a younger female detective holding a clipboard. The captain spotted Eleanor, took one look at her sharp, unblinking gaze, and immediately recognized the posture of someone who had spent decades giving orders in rooms full of men with guns.
“Mrs. Vance?” the captain asked, stepping forward and flashing his badge. “Captain Harris, Savannah PD. Agent Miller with the FBI federal task force briefed me on my way over. We have your preliminary medical report, and we’ve secured the security camera footage from the downtown bus terminal showing Marcus Sterling’s vehicle dropping your daughter off in sub-freezing weather with no coat or shoes.”
“Good,” Eleanor said, standing up from her chair and buttoning her wool coat. “Then you have probable cause for immediate felony arrest warrants for aggravated domestic battery, reckless endangerment, and unlawful imprisonment.”
“We do, ma'am,” Captain Harris nodded grimly. “And what are your instructions regarding the residence at Oakridge Lane?”
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Eleanor reached into her purse, pulled out the small, worn leather badge case she hadn’t opened in five years, and flipped it open. The gold federal prosecutor seal gleamed under the emergency room lights.
“My instructions, Captain,” Eleanor said, her voice dropping into a lethal whisper, “are that we serve those warrants right in the middle of their turkey dinner while their precious CEO is carving the roast.”
