Chapter 11 - The Five Million Dollar Bounty
The broadcast audio hummed with the high-pitched feedback of dozens of press microphones crowding around Julian Wright's walnut podium.
My sister Sarah stood paralyzed by the kitchen counter, the ceramic mug in her hand trembling until hot black coffee slopped over the rim.
On the television screen, Julian dabbed at his dry eyes with an embroidered linen handkerchief, putting on an academy-award performance of grief.
“My family has endured an unspeakable tragedy over the last twenty-four hours,” Julian proclaimed to the flashing cameras.
“My twin brother, Logan, whose tragic history of psychiatric delusions is well documented, has resurfaced with the assistance of a diner employee named Joanna Vance.”
“Together, under the cover of a coordinated blackout, they abducted an infant from Saint Jude Memorial Hospital.”
“My elderly father, suffering from acute senile dementia, aided their criminal flight before our security team could intervene.”
“I am pleading directly with Joanna: return my nephew to licensed medical care before his fragile health deteriorates.”
“To anyone harboring these fugitives, understand that a five-million-dollar cash bounty has been placed on the infant’s safe extraction.”
The screen cut sharply to a high-resolution photograph of my own face, pulled straight from my expired state driver’s license.
Beside my photo was an artist's digital composite of Logan, scarred and dangerous, labeled as an armed and hostile fugitive.
“They turned you into a national kidnapper in less than twelve hours,” Sarah whispered, her face ashen as she shut off the television.
“The diner where I worked, the landlord who took my cash rent, every neighbor on Fourth Street—they will all call the tip hotline for five million dollars.”
I dropped onto the edge of the sofa, looking down at my son sleeping peacefully in the woven wicker basket.
His tiny chest rose and fell beneath the flannel blanket, completely oblivious to the digital manhunt converging on his name.
“Julian isn't just trying to find him,” I said, the bitter realization crystallizing in my mind.
“He’s laying the groundwork for our murder.”
“If the public believes we are violent kidnappers, his private mercenaries can shoot us in an alleyway and claim it was self-defense.”
“They’ll recover the baby, present him to the probate board, and Julian walks into nine hundred million dollars as a grieving savior.”
Sarah opened her laptop on the dining table, her fingers clattering furiously across the keyboard as she accessed secure data channels.
Before our falling out over family debts, Sarah had worked six years as a compliance investigator for the state attorney general's office.
“Logan sent an encrypted file to my backup email before the mountain cabin went up in flames,” Sarah said, staring at the green text scrolling across her monitor.
“He left a digital contingency in case his physical extraction failed.”
“Is he alive, Sarah? Tell me the truth!” I pleaded, grabbing her shoulder.
“He was taken into custody by Julian’s private security unit, not the state police,” Sarah answered grimly, looking directly into my eyes.
“They are holding him at the Wright estate’s private medical wing in Rhinebeck, New York.”
“Julian had his medical board revoke Dr. Wright’s surgical license and placed them both under involuntary clinical holds.”
“They're pumping them full of sedatives to prevent them from speaking to federal agents before Julian’s thirty-fifth birthday deadline.”
My fingernails bit deeply into the palms of my hands until sharp pain cut through my lingering postpartum ache.
“Julian’s birthday is in four days.”
“Four days,” Sarah confirmed, pulling up a digital floor plan of the historic Wright manor.
“If we don’t break the clinical trials ledger to the United States Department of Justice before midnight on Monday, Julian executes the trust.”
“Once the legal custody decree is signed by a compromised probate judge, Logan and Dr. Wright will suffer fatal overdoses in that clinic.”
“And my son will belong to Julian forever,” I said, staring at the leather-bound ledger sitting on the table.
“We are not running anymore, Sarah.”
“What are you saying, Jo? You can barely walk down a flight of stairs without clutching your incision!”
“I am saying we stop playing defense against a corporate predator,” I replied, my voice dropping into cold, lethal stillness.
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“Logan risked his life to lead those wolves away from me, and his father threw away forty years of honor to hand me this book.”
“We are going to New York, Sarah, and we are going to burn Julian’s kingdom to the ground before he can blow out his birthday candles.”
