Chapter 3 - The Swap and the Scandal
The arrival of Detective Raymond Cruz of the Chicago Police Department brought the cold weight of the law into the quiet sanctuary of the fourth floor. Cruz was a veteran detective with a tired face and a sharp mind, his coat smelling of stale tobacco and rain as he stepped into the consultation room.
"Mrs. Vance—or rather, Ms. Camila," Cruz said, correcting himself as he looked at the case file. "We've verified the security footage. The vehicle that dropped the boy off was registered to a holding company controlled by Vance Enterprises. The woman in the video has been positively identified as Victoria Vance. We’ve already dispatched a unit to her apartment in the Gold Coast, but she’s not there. Her phone is turned off."
Camila sat rigid in her chair, her hands wrapped tightly around a paper cup of lukewarm water. "Where is Steven? If Victoria had my son, Steven knows exactly where he’s been for the last six years."
"We called Steven Vance’s residence," Detective Cruz said, checking his notebook. "His house staff says he is currently at a corporate gala at the Drake Hotel. It’s the annual Vance Enterprises charity benefit. The entire family is there—Steven, his mother Eleanor, and their top shareholders."
A bitter, razor-sharp smile broke across Camila’s face. "Of course they are. They’re celebrating their wealth while my son is fighting for his life with thallium in his veins. Detective, I want them arrested. I want the media there. I want the whole city to see what they did."
"We can't just walk in and put handcuffs on a billionaire at a charity gala without an ironclad warrant, Ms. Camila," Cruz explained patiently, though his eyes held a deep symmetry with her anger. "Right now, we have a missing sister and a child with a falsified identity. We need to link the poisoning directly to Steven or Eleanor. If we move too fast, their high-priced attorneys will suppress the blood records before we can even get a judge to look at them."
"Then let me go," Camila said, standing up.
"Absolutely not," Cruz said. "You're a civilian, and you're emotionally compromised."
"I am his mother!" Camila’s voice cracked through the small room like a thunderclap, causing Dr. Rhodes to look up from her notes. "For six years, I have lived in a hell they created. I have believed my own body was a failure. I have survived on their scraps. Steven is at that hotel right now, playing the grieving father whose sister has 'mysteriously disappeared' with a child no one knew existed. If I walk into that room... if I confront him in front of his peers, he will break. I know him, Detective. He is a coward who hides behind his mother's skirt and his family name. If his name is threatened, he will scramble to protect himself, and he will make a mistake."
Dr. Rhodes stood up, walking over to place a hand on Camila’s shoulder. "Detective Cruz, from a medical standpoint, the boy in that room doesn't have days. The thallium levels in his blood suggest a long-term, calculated administration. Whoever was giving it to him had access to his daily routine, his food, his vitamins. If Victoria Vance ran tonight, it’s because the boy had a sudden, violent reaction that she didn't anticipate. The source of the poison is likely still inside that family's house. Every hour we wait for a formal warrant is an hour they have to destroy the evidence."
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Detective Cruz looked at the two women, his jaw tightening as he weighed the legal risks against the life of a six-year-old boy. He let out a long, slow sigh and reached for his radio.
"Alright, Ms. Camila," Cruz said, his voice dropping into a professional growl. "We do this your way. But you wear a wire, and you stay behind my officers until I give the word. Let's go crash a party."
