Chapter 7 - The Hostage
Tears streamed down my face as the deafening static from the radio filled the tense hospital room.
My father rushed to the door, pressing his ear against the heavy wood to listen for any signs of movement in the hallway.
"We have to get out of here," my mother panicked, wildly looking around for a weapon and grabbing a heavy metal IV pole.
"I can't move, Mom," I sobbed, staring helplessly at the thick plaster casts completely immobilizing my broken legs.
Before my father could turn the deadbolt, the door handle rattled violently, followed by a thunderous kick that splintered the wood.
The door crashed open, and David Sterling walked in, holding a bleeding, furious Richard Vance at gunpoint.
Richard had a grazing bullet wound on his left shoulder, his expensive charcoal suit now stained with dark crimson blood.
"Back away from the bed," David commanded, waving a silenced pistol at my terrified parents.
My father bravely stepped in front of my bed to shield me, but Richard shook his head tightly.
"Don't do it, Eric; he will kill you without a second thought," Richard warned through gritted teeth.
David chuckled darkly, kicking the door shut behind him and locking it securely from the inside.
"You are a very smart woman, Amy, but unfortunately, your hacking skills have become a massive liability to my retirement plans," David sneered.
"Where is my daughter?" I demanded, refusing to break eye contact with the man who had sold my family to a monster.
"Henry is currently driving her to a private airstrip on the edge of the city," David revealed with a smug, victorious smile.
"Once Marcus Thorne verifies the transferred funds, Henry gets a one-way ticket to Mexico, and the girl gets left in the woods."
"You're a monster," I spat, my blood boiling with a rage so hot it temporarily melted away my physical pain.
"I'm a capitalist, Amy," David corrected coldly, raising his pistol and aiming it squarely at my chest.
"Now, you are going to log back into that laptop and authorize the final security clearance for the wire transfer, or I shoot your mother first."
My hands shook violently as I pulled the laptop back onto my lap, knowing I had no choice but to comply.
I typed in the final authorization codes, watching the progress bar slowly climb toward one hundred percent.
"Good girl," David mocked, taking a step closer to inspect the glowing screen.
"Transfer complete," I whispered, but instead of showing a confirmation screen, the laptop suddenly blared a deafening siren.
David gasped in shock as a bright red message flashed across the screen: INITIATING REVERSE TRACE AND ENCRYPTED LOCKOUT.
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"I'm an accountant, David," I glared at him fiercely.
"I didn't authorize the transfer; I just permanently froze the corporate accounts and sent your exact GPS coordinates to the FBI."
