Chapter 14 - The Breach
Reid reacted instantly, shoving Victoria and me down behind the heavy wooden dining table as shards of glass showered over the floorboards. Outside, the engine of a heavy motorcycle roared to life, its tires spraying gravel against the cottage siding as it sped off into the rain-drenched woods.
"Are you okay?" Reid demanded, hovering over me, his hand shielding my head.
"I'm fine," I gasped, wiping dust from my cheeks. "Victoria?"
Victoria was sitting against the wall, clutching her arm where a small cut bled onto her sweater. Her face was paper-white, her eyes wide with shock. "They tracked you," she whispered hysterically. "I told you they were watching!"
"It wasn't us," Reid said, picking up a heavy iron poker from the fireplace as he cautiously peered out the broken window. "That wasn't a warning shot. It was a distraction."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my heart hammering in my chest.
Reid pointed toward the driveway. The heavy tires of the motorcycle hadn't just left track marks—they had intentionally smashed the driver’s side window of our parked SUV, disabling the onboard GPS unit and tire pressure sensors.
"They don't want to kill us," Reid realized, turning back to us with dark urgency. "They wanted to delay us. They know we came to see Victoria."
"The clinic," I whispered, the terrifying realization washing over me like ice water. "Celeste is at the research facility right now!"
Without waiting another second, Reid grabbed his keys. We pulled Victoria with us, forcing her into the SUV despite her protests. "You aren't safe here anymore, Victoria," Reid told her sternly as he threw the truck into reverse. "You're coming with us to the police department in town."
The two-hour drive back toward the city felt agonizingly long. The rain poured continuously, reducing visibility to a few yards as Reid pushed the vehicle to its absolute limit. I tried calling Dr. Arden’s cell phone three times, but each attempt went straight to voicemail.
"Call the facility’s security desk," I urged, my hands shaking on my lap.
I dialed the main line for the Vance Pediatric Research Foundation. After five long rings, a young receptionist answered, her voice trembling.
"P-Pediatric Research Center..."
"This is Reid's wife," I said quickly. "Is Dr. Arden there? Is everything okay?"
"Ma'am, you need to come right away," the girl sobbed into the phone. "There was an emergency in the archival wing. Fire alarms were triggered ten minutes ago, and someone bypassed the secure server room!"
"Where is Dr. Arden?" I shouted over the road noise.
"She was in the basement archives trying to lock down the physical files! The building was evacuated, but she hasn't come out yet!"
"Call nine-one-one now!" I screamed into the phone.
Reid floored the accelerator, the engine roaring as we tore through the rain-slick highway toward the city perimeter. Ten minutes later, the modern glass-and-steel building of the Research Center came into view, its emergency strobe lights casting harsh red and blue flashes against the grey downpour. Two fire engines were already parked on the curb, their hoses snaking across the wet pavement.
Reid slammed the vehicle into park near the main entrance, and we both sprinted out into the rain, leaving Victoria guarded by a responding police unit Pendelton had dispatched.
"Celeste!" I cried out as we pushed past the firefighters in the lobby.
The lobby was filled with smoke, the sharp smell of electrical burning hanging heavy in the air. Firefighters were directing confused staff members toward the emergency exits, but near the central stairwell, two paramedics were tending to a figure sitting on an ambulance stretcher.
It was Dr. Celeste Arden.
Her lab coat was stained with soot, her forehead bruised, but her hazel eyes were fierce and wide open.
"Celeste!" I fell to my knees beside her, grasping her trembling hands. "Are you hurt? What happened?"
"They took them," Dr. Arden rasped, coughing slightly as a paramedic placed an oxygen mask over her face. She pushed the mask aside, grabbing my arm with surprising strength. "They took the original paper surgical logs from OR 3. The ones with the original monitor printouts."
"Who took them?" Reid asked, his face shadowed with fury.
"It was Marcus Sterling’s former chief assistant," Dr. Arden said, her voice shaking with rage. "Dr. Julian Vance’s team paid him off months ago. He set a flare fire in the electrical closet to clear the building, used my master key card, and broke the physical lockbox in the archive."
"Did they wipe the digital backup?" Reid asked.
"No," Dr. Arden said, a faint, defiant smile breaking through her soot-stained lips. "Because I moved the master digital encryption keys off the network three weeks ago. They got paper printouts, but they don't have the raw telemetry data. Without that telemetry, their fake affidavit from Sterling won't hold up in court for five minutes."
"They have enough to file the injunction," Arthur Pendelton’s voice echoed behind us as he strode into the lobby, his leather briefcase soaked from the storm. He held up his phone, showing an incoming email notification from the federal court clerk.
"It’s official," Pendelton said grimly. "Julian Vance’s legal team just formally submitted their emergency petition to judge Harold Vance—Julian’s second cousin. The hearing is set for tomorrow morning at nine o'clock."
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"He wants to drag Wren’s medical record into open court tomorrow," I whispered, my voice trembling with indignation.
Reid stood tall, stepping between us and the smoky hallway, his hand resting tightly on my shoulder. "Then we give them the fight of their lives tomorrow morning."
