Chapter 1 - The Arrest on Floor 7
The door of the intensive care suite swung open with a heavy, pneumatic hiss.
Two uniformed officers from the NYPD’s Special Victims Unit stepped into the room, followed by a tall man in a dark charcoal trench coat whose sharp grey eyes scanned the scene in a fraction of a second. Detective Julian Cross didn't look like a man who humored billionaires. He held a leather badge holder in one hand and a freshly signed arrest warrant in the other.
Flynn’s face, already pale from the shock of the ultrasound, turned completely translucent. He tried to pull himself together, adjusting the lapels of his tailored suit jacket—the same designer brand he had wrapped around Selina Cole three days ago while I bled out on the hardwood floor.
“What is the meaning of this?” Flynn demanded, his voice attempting to reclaim the imperious tone he used in the Vance Global boardroom. “This is a private medical room. Get out before I call the commissioner.”
Detective Cross didn't flinch. He walked past the crushed bouquet of white roses scattered across the linoleum and stopped two feet from Flynn.
“Flynn Vance,” Detective Cross said, his voice dropping into a dry, metallic rasp. “You are under arrest for attempted murder, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, and two counts of felony feticide.”
Flynn gasped, stepping back until his spine hit the foot of my hospital bed. “What?! Feticide? That’s... that was an accident! It was a domestic misunderstanding!”
“You stabbed your wife twice in the abdomen with a four-inch paring knife,” Detective Cross replied flatly. “The 911 dispatch log shows that you didn't call for an ambulance. A neighbor called ten minutes later after hearing Mrs. Vance screaming. When officers arrived at your estate, you were long gone, having driven Miss Selina Cole to a private urgent care clinic for a quarter-inch abrasion on her forearm.”
I lay in the bed, the IV tubes taped to the back of my hand, watching my husband’s world fracture. The physical pain from the double incision under my surgical dressings was a roaring fire, but the cold clarity inside my mind was absolute.
“Mabel!” Flynn spun toward me, reaching his hands out over the bed rail, his eyes wide with frantic, sickening desperation. “Tell them! Tell them it wasn't attempted murder! Tell them I lost my temper! Mabel, please! If I go to jail, Vance Global will collapse!”
I raised my head slightly off the pillow. Every movement sent a razor of pain through my torn abdominal muscles, but I forced myself to look directly into the eyes of the man who had murdered our unborn twins.
“I hope it burns to the ground, Flynn,” I whispered.
“Hands behind your back, Mr. Vance,” Detective Cross ordered.
Before Flynn could take another breath, the second officer seized his arms, twisted them behind his back, and clicked heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists. The loud, metallic double-click echoed through the silent room like a gunshot.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the officer droned, pulling Flynn toward the doorway. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...”
“Mabel! Don't do this!” Flynn shrieked, thrashing against the officers’ grip as he was hauled backward into the hallway. “I loved you! It was Selina! She lied to me! Mabel!”
The heavy door swung shut, cutting off his pathetic wails.
Dr. Marcus Reed stepped up to the side of my bed, gently checking the digital monitors tracking my blood pressure.
May you like
“Your heart rate is spiking, Mrs. Vance,” Dr. Reed said softly, adjusting the flow of my pain medication. “You need to rest. The district attorney’s office will handle the rest.”
“No, Dr. Reed,” I said, my voice steadying as the morphine began to blunt the burning pain in my stomach. “The district attorney will handle the criminal side. I am going to handle the rest.”
