Chapter 3 - The Psych Ward
I was not taken to the county jail like a normal criminal suspect.
Because of the forged medical documents Brandon provided, I was placed on a mandatory 72-hour psychiatric hold.
The hospital staff stripped me of my clothes and forced me into a scratchy paper gown.
They locked me inside a sterile, white room on the seventh floor with no windows.
I paced the padded floor for hours, crying until I had no tears left.
I knew Nancy was somewhere in the building, fighting for her life in the surgical ICU.
And the man trying to kill her had full medical authority over her care.
Around midnight, the heavy metal door clicked open.
A young night nurse with tired eyes and a kind face walked in holding a plastic cup of water.
Her name tag read Chloe.
"You need to drink something, Mrs. Hayes," Chloe said softly.
I rushed over to her and fell to my knees, begging for her help.
"You have to believe me, my husband is trying to kill my daughter for insurance money," I sobbed.
Chloe looked away nervously, clearly instructed not to engage with my "delusions."
"Please, just let me log into my cloud account on your phone," I pleaded desperately.
"The camera footage automatically uploads to the cloud, the proof is still there!" I insisted.
Chloe hesitated, gripping her smartphone tightly in her uniform pocket.
"If I get caught doing that, I'll lose my nursing license," she whispered.
I looked deep into her eyes and appealed to her humanity.
"If you don't help me, a five-year-old girl will be murdered by morning," I swore.
Chloe bit her lip and slowly pulled her phone from her pocket.
Before she could hand it to me, her screen lit up with a breaking news notification.
Chloe read the headline aloud, her voice trembling.
"Federal authorities raid Hayes Investment Firm over ties to an underground gambling syndicate," she read.
She looked at me, her eyes wide with sudden realization.
"Your husband's company just collapsed, he owes millions to the cartel," Chloe breathed out.
She quickly unlocked her phone and handed it to me.
"Log in, right now," she commanded.
I rapidly typed in my email and password, my fingers slipping from the sweat.
The cloud drive loaded, but every single folder was completely empty.
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A large, red digital lock icon flashed across the screen with a customized message.
"Did you really think I wouldn't change the passwords, Samantha?" the text on the screen read.
