Chapter 9 - The Hunt for the Black Box
The storm clouds opened over the Hudson Valley as our black SUV tore north along the winding mountain highway.
Julian drove with both hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned paper white.
I sat in the passenger seat monitoring the GPS navigation, while Clara and Samuel prepared the digital recording equipment in the back.
"Dr. Evans’ clinic is ten miles ahead, nestled near the edge of the state forest," I warned, watching the rain lash the windshield.
"If Sterling sent his people yesterday, Evans might already be gone, or worse," Julian said grimly, accelerating around a steep curve.
Twenty minutes later, the SUV turned into the gravel driveway of an elegant, secluded stone medical retreat surrounded by pine trees.
The iron estate gates hung wide open, their electronic lock mechanism visibly smashed and hanging by severed copper wires.
Julian parked behind a row of overgrown hedges, and the four of us stepped out into the pouring, frigid rain.
The front glass doors of the clinic were unlocked, leading into an abandoned, darkened reception lobby littered with scattered files.
"Stay behind me," Julian whispered, picking up a heavy brass umbrella stand from the vestibule as an improvised weapon.
We moved down the silent, carpeted corridor toward the main consultation office at the end of the western wing.
The office door had been forced open, its lock splintered, and the interior room had been ransacked with clinical precision.
Bookshelves were overturned, file cabinets emptied onto the floor, and desk drawers dumped in careless heaps.
Clara walked straight past the destroyed furniture toward the massive mahogany grandfather clock standing against the rear wall.
The glass face of the clock had been broken, but the heavy wooden pendulum still hung motionless inside the central chamber.
Clara reached inside the mechanical housing, feeling behind the brass weights near the interior base of the clockwork.
Her fingers caught the edge of a recessed magnetic latch, pulling open a concealed wooden compartment that the intruders had missed.
Inside sat a heavy, fireproof steel lockbox bearing the emblem of the state medical board.
"I found it," Clara whispered, pulling the heavy steel container out into the dim daylight filtering through the broken window.
Before Samuel could examine the lock, the sound of heavy footsteps crunched against the wet gravel outside the clinic window.
Two broad-shouldered men in dark tactical jackets stepped into the room, their hands resting on concealed holsters inside their coats.
"Put the box on the desk and walk out with your hands up," the first operative ordered, his voice cold and devoid of hesitation.
"Mr. Sterling instructed us that no one leaves this clinic with personal effects from Dr. Evans' private inventory," the second man added.
Julian stepped forward, raising his chin, stepping directly between the armed men and his younger sister.
"I am Julian Croft, Chief Executive Officer of Croft Global Enterprises," Julian stated with commanding corporate authority.
"These premises are under our family trust's corporate lease, and you are currently trespassing on private property."
The first operative smirked, pulling his coat aside to reveal the grip of a sidearm.
"Mr. Sterling owns your family's corporate debt, Mr. Croft; you don't own anything in this building anymore."
Suddenly, a loud siren shrieked through the trees outside, followed by the blinding sweep of red and blue emergency strobe lights.
Three state police cruisers slid into the gravel driveway, doors swinging open as armed troopers took tactical positions around the entrance.
"State police! Drop your hands and step away from the civilians!" a commanding voice bellowed through an exterior megaphone.
Samuel Vance held up his smartphone with a faint smile, showing an active call with the state attorney general's emergency task force.
"I dispatched our coordinates and Victoria’s sworn affidavit forty minutes ago, gentlemen," Samuel said calmly to the stunned operatives.
The two fixers raised their hands slowly as state troopers rushed through the clinic entrance, pinning them to the floor and securing the room.
May you like
Clara clutched the steel lockbox to her chest, looking through the rain-streaked window at the flashing emergency lights.
The countdown toward the five o'clock foreclosure deadline was rapidly ticking away, but the weapon we held was far deadlier than money.
