Chapter 7 - The Break-In
The drive to 12th Street took six excruciating minutes—six minutes of running red lights, tires screeching against wet asphalt, my heart pounding like a sledgehammer against my ribs.
When we arrived, the front entrance of the apartment building was dark. The lobby glass was intact, but the inner security gate was hanging off its hinges.
Vance and I drew our flashlights, taking the stairs three at a time up to the third floor.
The corridor smelled of ozone and discharged fire extinguishers. The heavy oak door of the residential suite was splintered open, its lock shattered by a hydraulic jack.
"Laurel!" I shouted, rushing through the doorway.
The living room was tossed—furniture overturned, couch cushions sliced open, Clara’s legal files scattered across the floor like autumn leaves.
Inside the master bedroom, the door to the en-suite bathroom was shattered inward.
I burst into the room, my heart stopping.
The security guard lay unconscious near the sink, bleeding from a head wound.
Sitting in the empty bathtub, holding a broken glass bottle in her hand, was Laurel. Her face was covered in dust, her clothes torn, her eyes wild with primal, maternal fury. She was standing over Dash, who was curled into a tiny ball in the corner of the tub, his small arms wrapped tightly around Barnaby the rabbit, his eyes wide with silent terror.
When Laurel saw me through the dust, her grip on the glass bottle softened. She let out a long, ragged shriek of pure relief, collapsing against the tile wall.
"They took... they took my bag," Laurel sobbed, gasping for air as I dropped into the tub beside her, pulling her and Dash into my arms. "They took my laptop... and my journal... the journal with the Oakridge dates!"
"Are you hurt?!" I checked her face, her arms, her hands. "Did they touch Dash?!"
"No," Dash whispered from beneath his mother’s arm, his little voice shaking violently. "I guarded Mommy, Michael. I held Barnaby tight."
Vance stepped into the bathroom, checking the guard's pulse. "He's alive, Michael. Concussion, but breathing. The attackers fled down the fire escape when the building alarm went off."
I held Laurel tightly, feeling her body shaking uncontrollably against mine.
Harrison Sterling had escalated from legal intimidation to outright home invasion. He was desperate. He knew the evidentiary trial was two weeks away, and he was clearing the board of any physical evidence connecting him to the Oakridge toxic dumping.
"Michael..." Laurel wept against my chest. "He's going to kill us. He's never going to stop."
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I looked down at Dash, who reached out his small hand and touched my wet cheek, holding his rabbit against his small chest.
"No, he isn't," I said, my voice dropping into an icy, unyielding register. "Because tomorrow morning, we aren't waiting for the trial anymore. We're going on the offensive."
