Chapter 2 - The Interrogation at St. Jude’s
The trauma bay smelled of iodine, rubbing alcohol, and cold air.
Dr. Chen, a senior orthopedic physician, worked efficiently over my shoulder, injecting local anesthetic before closing a four-inch laceration along my shoulder blade with neat, black surgical sutures. A white bandage was already wrapped snugly around my head to cover the gash on my temple.
Beside my bed stood Detective Sarah Miller from the 14th Precinct SVU. She carried a thick digital tablet, her pen tapping a steady, rhythmic cadence against the glass screen.
"Your father was George Vance?" Detective Miller asked, looking up from her notes.
"Yes," I said softly, wincing slightly as Dr. Chen pulled a suture tight. "He died eight months ago. The company is Mercer-Vance Logistics."
"And your husband, Daniel Mercer, along with his mother, Margaret Mercer, claimed you attacked Margaret inside the public corridor prior to falling?"
"It's a lie," I said, my voice steadying despite the pain meds coursing through my system. "I confronted Margaret in the fourth-floor corridor because I caught her coming out of my room with a stolen legal envelope. I followed her to the elevator. When we reached the main lobby, Daniel met us. He grabbed my arm, pulled out my IV line, and held me while Margaret pushed me toward the stairs."
"And the IV?"
"Margaret ripped it from my arm," I said, turning my head to show the dark, purple hematoma blooming across the inside of my elbow where the needle had been torn out sideways. "Daniel blocked the nurses from stepping forward. He told everyone the lobby cameras were broken because he thought there would be no video proof."
Detective Miller turned toward the corner of the trauma bay, where Officer Luis Morales stood quietly holding a yellow evidence bag.
Inside the clear plastic bag lay the tiny black micro-SD card.
"Morales," Miller said. "Explain Camera Seven."
"Six months ago," Luis explained, stepping forward, "the hospital administration upgraded the security system, but they left three legacy analog units active on independent solar power backups along the perimeter beams. Camera Seven is mounted inside the recessed soffit above the main entrance doors. It points directly down the central stairwell."
"Does it record to the main server?"
"No, Detective," Luis replied with a faint, grim smile. "It records locally to a closed-loop internal storage drive inside the housing. The board of trustees—which Margaret Mercer sits on—doesn't even know it exists. They only cut funding to the central network servers last week to create 'blind spots' in the public corridors."
Detective Miller’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure, predatory interest. "They cut the main server feeds deliberately?"
"The service logs show a manual override code entered from the administrative office three days ago," Luis said, pulling a folded printout from his uniform pocket. "Entered under the credential login of Trustee Margaret Mercer."
I closed my eyes as a cold wave of relief washed over me.
They hadn't just committed a crime; they had laid a paper trail of premeditation that was now snapping shut around their necks like a steel trap.
Suddenly, the curtain around my trauma bay was yanked back.
Arthur Vance—my father’s seventy-two-year-old attorney, a towering man with thick white hair, wearing a dark navy suit—strode into the room. Behind him walked two junior associates carrying thick leather briefcases.
"Evelyn!" Arthur gasped, rushing to my bedside. His eyes filled with tears as he took my uninjured hand in his. "My God, child! What did those monsters do to you?!"
"I'm okay, Arthur," I whispered, squeezing his hand. "They didn't get away with it."
Arthur turned toward Detective Miller, his posture instantly shifting into that of a high-powered corporate litigator who had spent forty years destroying fraudulent executives in courtrooms.
"Detective Miller," Arthur declared, his booming voice filling the trauma room. "I am Arthur Vance, legal counsel for Evelyn Vance-Mercer and chief executor of the George Vance Estate. I am formally delivering an emergency injunction freezing all corporate accounts under Mercer-Vance Logistics, alongside forensic evidence proving Daniel and Margaret Mercer engaged in grand larceny, corporate identity theft, and conspiracy."
He motioned to his associate, who stepped forward and set a heavy red binder on the stainless-steel tray beside my bed.
"Inside this folder," Arthur continued, "are the bank records showing Margaret Mercer transferred two point four million dollars from the company’s operating accounts into an offshore shell company registered in Nevis three days ago—the exact same day Evelyn was admitted for emergency surgery."
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Detective Miller looked from the binder to the yellow evidence bag containing the camera card.
"Attempted murder," Miller murmured softly. "Grand larceny. Wire fraud. Corporate forgery." She looked at her partner standing outside the curtain. "Officer Harris, make sure Mr. Mercer and his mother are transferred from the holding room directly to Central Booking. No bail bond processing until the magistrate reviews this file at eight tomorrow morning."
