Chapter 3 - The Broken Trust
The heavy steel security doors of the hospital wing slammed shut with a deafening, metallic crash.
Detective Miller drew his service weapon and ordered me to barricade the wooden door of the children's room.
I shoved a heavy medical cabinet against the doorframe, my hands shaking with an explosive mixture of fear and absolute rage.
Miller explained that Brian had legally filed emergency custody transfer papers yesterday morning.
Because Brian was their legal father, the hospital administration was technically obligated to hand the children over to his designated representatives.
I told Miller about the video on the tablet, proving that Brian intended to sell them to foreign traffickers for the trust money.
Miller grabbed the tablet to upload the video to the police database, but the screen suddenly flashed red and died.
A remote wipe command had been initiated by whoever was currently hacking the hospital's internal network.
The only remaining proof of their massive criminal conspiracy was the original trust document stored at my estate lawyer's office.
I knew my late wife had specifically designed the trust to protect the children, meaning there had to be a hidden clause Brian was exploiting.
I told Miller he had to stay and protect the kids with his life while I retrieved those physical documents.
Miller agreed, promising to shoot anyone who tried to step foot inside that hospital room.
I climbed out the second-story window, shimmying down a sturdy drainage pipe to reach the dark alley below.
I stole a running delivery truck from the loading dock and sped furiously across town toward the financial district.
The sun was just rising when I kicked open the glass doors of my attorney's upscale office building.
I found my lawyer, Vance, nervously shredding thick stacks of paper behind his massive mahogany desk.
I grabbed him by the expensive collar of his shirt and demanded the original copies of my wife's protective trust.
Vance trembled and confessed that Brian had paid him two million dollars to quietly alter the legal wording last week.
He admitted he helped forge the documents that officially categorized the children as disposable assets.
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Before I could drag Vance to the police station, a laser sight suddenly appeared on his chest.
Vance smiled wickedly, stepped backward, and pressed a silent alarm button hidden under his desk.
