Chapter 7 - The Master Key
I pointed desperately at the third monitor on the wall.
"Elias, look at her!" I shouted, the sudden movement tugging painfully at my stitches.
"Sarah is getting away, and she has his physical files."
Elias immediately keyed his radio to coordinate with his ground team.
"Intercept the blonde woman exiting the rear alleyway of the church," Elias commanded.
On the screen, we watched Sarah sprint across the pavement in her high heels.
She clutched the heavy black briefcase tightly against her chest.
Before she could reach her parked car, two of Elias's operatives stepped out from the shadows.
They easily cornered her, snatched the briefcase, and forced her to the ground.
"We have the package," the operative's voice crackled over the radio.
"Bring it to the facility immediately," Elias replied.
I let out a long, shaky breath and leaned back against the comfortable leather chair.
The sheer relief of watching Garrick's empire completely crumble was intoxicating.
An hour later, Elias walked into my recovery room holding the black briefcase.
He placed it on the table and popped the golden latches open.
Inside were stacks of hard drives, offshore banking tokens, and Miriam's hidden financial ledgers.
"Garrick and Miriam are currently sitting in federal holding cells," Elias informed me.
"The FBI seized their home, froze their accounts, and revoked Garrick's pastoral license."
"Sarah turned state's evidence immediately and gave them everything they needed to guarantee a conviction."
I smiled, feeling lighter than I had in five agonizing years.
"So it's actually over," I whispered, tears of profound relief filling my eyes.
"Yes," Elias said softly, placing his hand over mine.
"You won, Elena."
"You survived them, and now you have the rest of your life to heal."
He poured me a cup of warm tea and handed me the final folder from the briefcase.
"These are your personal medical files that Garrick had locked in his private safe."
"I thought you might want them for your new doctors."
I took the thick manila folder and opened it slowly.
I expected to see my brutal oncology reports, my surgical schedules, and my radiation plans.
Instead, the very first document was a pathology report dated exactly two weeks before my double mastectomy.
It was from the original biopsy that supposedly confirmed my terminal diagnosis.
May you like
I scanned the medical jargon, my eyes finally landing on the conclusion stamped in bold red ink.
Benign.
