Chapter 8 - The Trap in the Corridor
"You have no evidence connecting me to any child," Vance snarled, taking a step toward Miller, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper so his lawyers wouldn't hear. "The boy's word means nothing in court. He’s unstable. A judge will toss his testimony in five minutes."
"I don't just have the boy's word, Julian," Miller smiled—a slow, terrifying grin that made Vance’s stomach plummet.
Miller pulled his smartphone from his pocket and tapped the screen.
A recording began to play—a crisp, high-definition audio clip captured by the body camera Miller had been wearing when Vance walked into the hallway three minutes prior.
"I received a call from the department stating that my stepson, Leo, was brought here tonight," Vance’s recorded voice echoed clearly through the corridor.
"You see, Julian," Miller explained smoothly, "we never gave the press or the dispatch logs the name of the boy who was found. We told the media a nameless vagrant brought an infant to the station. The only way you knew Leo was at St. Jude’s Hospital... is because you tracked his blood trail from the lumber yard."
Vance’s breath caught in his throat. He reached into his coat, his hand moving on instinct toward something concealed in his inner pocket, but Miller was faster.
Miller’s hand slammed into Vance’s wrist like a steel trap, twisting his arm behind his back with practiced, brutal force. He slammed the politician face-first against the tiled wall of the hospital corridor.
CLICK. CLICK.
May you like
The steel handcuffs snapped tightly around Vance's wrists.
"Julian Vance," Miller whispered into his ear, pressing his weight against the struggling man. "You're under arrest for attempted murder, child abandonment, kidnapping, and domestic abuse. And if it were up to me, I'd throw you in the dumpster on 12th Street and let the storm take care of the rest."
