Chapter 9 - The Confrontation in Room 412
The door swung open, and Clara Vance stepped into the suite, followed immediately by her husband, Marcus. They had returned to retrieve whatever they had left behind in their panic, unaware that they weren't alone.
Clara froze the moment she saw me standing by the executive desk, the black USB drive clutched tightly in my right hand. Her face drained of all color, her eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated terror.
“What are you doing here?” Clara shrieked, backing into Marcus’s chest.
Marcus stepped past his wife, his face contorting into a mask of ugly fury. He didn't look like the panicked coward from the living room anymore; he looked desperate, cornered, and entirely unhinged. He reached inside his heavy wool coat and pulled out a small, snub-nosed revolver.
“Hand it over, old man,” Marcus snarled, pointing the barrel straight at my chest. “Give me the drive, and maybe you get to walk out of here in one piece.”
I kept my hand steady, my fingers closing tightly around the thumb drive in my pocket. “You missed a spot, Marcus. You and Clara thought you could drug an innocent child and sweep it under the rug for Kenneth Vance’s corporate bio-tech experiments.”
“You don't know anything about Vance Bio-Tech!” Clara yelled, her voice pitching up hysterically. “You don't know what’s riding on this! That child’s genetic markers are the missing link for our proprietary neural regeneration trial. Her father signed over medical rights years ago—we just needed her compliance!”
My breath hitched. “What? Maya’s father? Her biological father died in a car accident before she was born!”
“That’s what Elena was told,” Marcus laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Kenneth Vance is her grandfather on her biological father’s side. He’s been tracking her lineage since birth. He owns her genetic profile, and he owns her future.”
The sheer arrogance and evil of it made my vision red. Before Marcus could pull the trigger, I kicked the heavy mahogany desk forward with all the strength in my legs.
The desk crashed into Marcus’s shins, knocking him off balance. The revolver flew from his hand, clattering across the marble floor of the kitchenette.
Clara screamed, diving for the weapon, but I lunged past her, scooped up the gun, and kicked it out the open hotel room door into the hallway where two federal marshals, led by Detective Miller, were already charging forward with weapons drawn.
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“Federal Agents! Don't move!” Miller roared, tackling Marcus to the floor while the second marshal pinned Clara against the wall.
I stood in the center of the chaotic suite, breathing heavily, the matte black USB drive clutched safely in my hand.
