Chapter 7 - The Discharge and the Return to the Shadows
Three days later, I was discharged from St. Vincent Medical Center.
The autumn air outside was biting and crisp, carrying the unmistakable scent of approaching winter as I stepped out from the main hospital doors, leaning slightly on a sturdy wooden cane to take pressure off my healing ribs and surgical incision.
A sleek, dark gray town car was idling at the curb.
The rear door opened smoothly, and Detective Miller stepped out, offering a steady, respectful hand to help me into the vehicle.
"Are you sure you're ready for this, Claire?" Miller asked gently as I settled into the plush leather seat, adjusting the woolen scarf around my neck to cover the faint, fading bruises on my collarbone. "We could easily handle the preliminary proceedings without your physical presence in the courtroom."
I turned my head, looking out the tinted window toward the towering skyline of downtown Chicago where the glittering glass facade of Vance Properties still dominated the block.
"No, Thomas," I replied, my voice calm, steady, and carrying a quiet, unbreakable resolve. "A good accountant never audits a ledger from a distance. You have to be in the room when the final numbers are tallied."
Miller nodded slowly, closing the door and sliding into the front passenger seat alongside the driver. "To the municipal courthouse, then."
The car glided effortlessly through the afternoon traffic, navigating the wet streets until it pulled up in front of the grand stone steps of the criminal court building.
As we emerged from the vehicle, a flurry of camera flashes and shouting reporters erupted from the press barricades, their microphones thrust forward like lances.
"Mrs. Vance! Is it true your husband attempted to liquidate your assets before the crash?"
"Did you discover the embezzlement scheme before or after the brake lines were severed?"
"Mrs. Vance! A word, please!"
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I didn't stop.
I kept my chin held high, leaning on my cane with measured, deliberate steps, ignoring the noise and the flashing lights as federal marshals cleared a path through the media swarm, escorting us securely through the heavy oak doors of the courthouse and into the quiet, controlled sanctuary of the judiciary wing.
