Chapter 8 - The Cell
The police captain did not hesitate.
Officers swarmed the small group with weapons drawn.
“Lower your weapon, Mr. Grant!” the captain barked at Michael.
Michael looked at Lucia, his eyes begging for permission to start a firefight.
“Put it down, Michael,” Lucia ordered softly.
“If you shoot a cop, they will take my baby into state custody.”
Michael slowly lowered his gun and placed it on the concrete floor.
Two officers immediately tackled him against the side of the SUV, slamming handcuffs onto his wrists.
Another officer approached Lucia’s wheelchair with a pair of cuffs.
“She just had a C-section!” Gerald yelled, stepping in front of her.
“If you put those on her, I will sue this entire precinct into bankruptcy!”
The officer hesitated.
Vivian walked forward, looking completely immaculate in a tailored white trench coat.
She stopped next to Dante, smiling sweetly at him.
“I secured the perimeter, Dante,” Vivian purred.
Dante looked at her, his eyes dead and empty.
He did not say a word to her.
He simply turned his back and walked toward his armored car, realizing he had lost total control of the board.
“Where is the child going?” Gerald demanded.
“The child belongs to the father,” Vivian replied smugly.
“Actually, no,” Gerald interrupted, pulling a stamped court document from his briefcase.
“A judge signed this thirty minutes ago.”
“Until the embezzlement investigation is complete, neither parent has custody.”
“The child is a ward of the court, placed in the protective care of a state-appointed guardian.”
Gerald smiled tightly.
“And the judge appointed Michael Grant.”
Vivian’s smug smile vanished completely.
The police captain inspected the document and nodded begrudgingly.
“Release him,” the captain ordered.
They took the cuffs off Michael.
He immediately grabbed the handle of the incubator.
“I will keep her safe,” Michael promised Lucia.
The officers wheeled Lucia away toward a waiting police transport van.
The ride to the precinct was agonizing.
Every bump in the road sent fresh waves of blinding pain through her abdomen.
They booked her under a false name to avoid media attention and threw her into a solitary holding cell.
The cell was freezing, smelling of bleach and old rust.
Lucia curled onto the thin metal cot, clutching her stomach.
An hour later, the heavy metal door clicked open.
A female guard stepped inside, carrying a small, crude rope made from braided bedsheets.
May you like
The guard locked the door behind her and pulled a baton from her belt.
“Vivian Ross paid me a hundred thousand dollars to make sure you hang yourself tonight,” the guard said, slapping the baton against her palm.
