Chapter 7 - The Father’s Treason
The strobing orange lights of the emergency alarm sliced through the dim room. Outside in the hallway, the chaotic clatter of hospital personnel, rolling carts, and urgent announcements escalated into immediate panic.
"Code Red, Fourth Floor East," the overhead speaker blared. "All personnel initiate evacuation protocols."
Voss drew his Glock 17, his body instantly shifting into a tactical stance at the doorway. "Stay behind me. Bridget, get her out of the bed."
"Voss, what's happening?" Bridget demanded, pulling a warm jacket over my shoulders as I struggled to stand, the cracked ribs firing white-hot needles through my torso.
Voss peeked into the corridor. "Transformer fire in the basement power junction. Emergency generators kicked in, but the main security doors are unlocking automatically on fail-safe."
His radio crackled with static. "Voss, this is Miller on the perimeter! We’ve got two unauthorized vehicles breaching the ambulance bay! Private security plates—"
The radio went dead with a burst of electronic squeal.
"They aren't here to hide," I whispered, holding my side as my bare feet touched the cold linoleum. "Eleanor hired Mercer Security. They're former maritime contractors Richard used to secure the smuggling berths."
"Over my dead body," Voss muttered, stepping into the hall.
Suddenly, a figure appeared around the corner. Not a tactical contractor.
It was Richard Vandermeer.
He was pale, disheveled, wearing a trench coat over a rumpled suit, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He wasn't armed. Behind him, two state troopers were lying unconscious near the nurses' station, zip-tied with industrial tactical cuffs. A Mercer security guard in tactical black stood watch at the stairwell, holding a suppressed carbine.
"Richard!" Voss shouted, raising his weapon. "Drop to your knees! Drop now!"
"Shoot him, Voss, and you’ll never see the physical ledgers," Richard said, his voice trembling with a mixture of terror and desperation. He held up both hands, completely ignoring the gun pointed at his chest. "I didn't come to hurt her! I came to trade!"
"Dad?" I said, leaning against Bridget’s shoulder, my voice thick with disbelief.
Richard’s gaze shifted to me. There was no arrogance left in the man. The patrician veneer had been completely stripped away, leaving a cowardly, pathetic shell who had spent his life hiding behind his wife’s cruelty and his daughter’s brilliance.
"Tessa," he pleaded, taking a hesitant step forward before Voss clicked the hammer back. "Listen to me. Eleanor has lost her mind. She hired Mercer’s team out of Boston with cash from our private safety deposit. She isn't trying to escape. She came here to kill you, and then she’s going to kill me in my holding cell. She knows I’m signing the plea agreement."
"You helped her beat me," I said, every word dripping with cold venom. "You stood in that doorway. You told her not to bleed on the rug."
"I was terrified of her!" Richard cried out, tears spilling down his hollow cheeks. "She’s had dirt on me for thirty years! She controlled the board! Tessa, please... I brought the key to the private safe in Zurich. Everything. The original contracts. Just let Bridget negotiate a protective custody deal for me before Eleanor gets to this floor!"
"Where is she, Richard?" Voss demanded, his weapon unwavering. "Where is Eleanor?"
Before Richard could answer, the Mercer contractor at the end of the hall collapsed to the floor with a wet thud, a dark stain blossoming across the back of his jacket.
Stepping over his body was Eleanor Vandermeer.
She was wearing a long, black cashmere coat, her hair tied severely back. In her right hand was a small, silver automatic pistol. She looked at Richard not with anger, but with absolute disgust.
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"You always were an intolerable coward, Richard," Eleanor said smoothly, her voice echoing above the mechanical shrieking of the fire alarm. "I should have left you in the snow thirty years ago."
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