Chapter 12 - the loading dock
Rain hammered against the corrugated metal awning of Mount Sinai’s lower loading dock. The blue cargo van’s engine was rumbling, exhaust spewing into the damp night air.
Behind the wheel sat a private contractor hired by Vance, checking his digital watch.
Inside the rear cargo area, Lucy sat curled on a metal bench, her hands bound with plastic zip-ties, her tear-streaked face pale with terror.
The driver shifted the transmission into drive.
A gunshot echoed through the concrete tunnel. The front-left tire of the van blew out with a violent hiss, the vehicle dropping hard onto its rim.
The driver cursed, reaching into the glove compartment for a weapon, but the driver’s side window imploded in a shower of tempered glass.
A heavy hand reached through the shattered frame, unlocked the door from the inside, and ripped it open. Richard Whitmore dragged the driver out by his collar, throwing him hard onto the wet asphalt.
Before the driver could scramble for his dropped gun, Arthur Hayes stepped out from the shadows of the stairwell, aiming his revolver directly between the man's eyes.
"Don't move," Arthur said in a voice that left no room for doubt.
Richard tore open the rear double doors of the van.
"Lucy!"
Lucy looked up, crying out, "Grandpa!"
Richard climbed inside, pulling a pocketknife from his trousers and carefully cutting the plastic ties around her wrists. He pulled the trembling eight-year-old into his arms, burying his face in her damp hair as he held her against his chest.
"I’ve got you," Richard whispered, his voice breaking. "Nobody is ever going to take you again. I swear it."
Lucy clung to his tuxedo jacket, sobbing into his shoulder. "Mom said you would come. She said you were the strongest man in the world."
Richard carried Lucy out into the rain, sheltering her beneath his broad frame as they walked back toward the hospital entrance.
Arthur walked beside them, keeping his gun trained on the subdued driver until police sirens wailed in the distance, flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the wet pavement.
"Julian’s plane just entered New York airspace," Arthur said, glancing at the flight-tracker app on his phone. "He’s scheduled to land at JFK private terminal in forty-five minutes."
Richard stopped at the hospital doors. He looked down at Lucy, then turned his gaze toward Arthur. The warmth in his eyes hardened into diamond.
"Arthur," Richard commanded. "Have the Port Authority police impound his jet on the tarmac. Cancel his executive privileges. Freeze every Whitmore corporate account under his name."
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"And Victoria?" Arthur asked.
"Call the district attorney," Richard said coldly. "Tell him the Whitmore family is ready to press charges for attempted murder, kidnapping, and corporate fraud."
