Chapter 9 - THE ST. JUDE'S TRANSITION
The snow began to fall at 7:00 PM—not the soft, picturesque flakes of a holiday card, but a hard, dry sleet that stung the skin and coated the pavement in a treacherous white sheet. Beneath the bridge, the tents were shaking under the weight of the wind, the nylon fabric groaning against the aluminum poles.
Alistair’s SUV pulled up to the curb, followed immediately by a large, heated city transit bus that Marcus Miller had secured through his outreach program.
Alistair walked straight to Nellie’s tent, his boots crunching over the fresh ice. He didn't call out this time; he carefully unzipped the green tarp and looked inside. Nellie was huddled under three thin blankets, her face pale, her lips a faint, dangerous shade of blue. Her breath was coming in short, rattling gasps—the early signs of hypothermia.
"Nellie," Alistair said gently, reaching in to lift her off the cardboard sheet.
"Don't..." she whispered, her fingers weakly trying to push his chest away. "I told you... I don't want your money."
"It's not my money, Nellie," Alistair said, wrapping his heavy designer coat around her thin shoulders and lifting her into his arms. She felt light, almost weightless, like a bird with a broken wing. "The money belongs to Sawyer now. We built a place for him. A place with heat."
He carried her out into the sleet, her head resting weakly against his neck, her frozen breath mixing with his. The other inhabitants of the camp were already stepping out of their shelters, guided by Marcus Miller and Arthur toward the warm interior of the city bus.
As Alistair reached the curb, two black sedans with government plates pulled up behind the bus. Four federal marshals stepped out into the snow, their badges gleaming against their dark windbreakers.
The lead marshal walked straight to Alistair, looking at the woman in his arms.
"Dr. Carpenter?" the marshal asked.
"Yes," Alistair said, not stopping.
"We have just executed the arrest warrant for Katie Carpenter at her residence in Wayzata," the marshal stated, his voice neutral. "She attempted to board a private flight to Miami at six-fifteen. She is currently in federal custody at the county detention facility. We also have a freeze order for Arthur Gilbert and Olivia Gilbert-Carpenter for obstruction of justice and corporate fraud."
Alistair stopped at the door of the SUV, looking down at Nellie’s face. Her eyes were half-open, tracking the flashing red lights of the marshal’s vehicles. She heard the name Katie Carpenter and custody, and for a fraction of a second, the old, sharp spark of intelligence returned to her eyes.
"She’s locked up?" Nellie whispered, her voice cracking.
"She’s never coming back, Nellie," Alistair said, placing her gently into the heated passenger seat of the vehicle. "The house in Wayzata is gone. The clinic is gone. There's nothing left but us."
He turned to the federal marshal. "I’ll be at the St. Jude's facility on the north side if your office needs my formal signature on the surrender documents. I’m not running."
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"We know where to find you, Doctor," the marshal said, giving him a brief, respectful nod before stepping back into his vehicle.
The small convoy of vehicles moved through the blizzard, leaving the dark, frozen bridge behind them. As they drove through the gates of the old St. Jude’s orphanage, the building looked like a beacon in the storm—its windows glowing with warm, golden light, the smoke rising from the brick chimneys like a promise of safety.
