Chapter 7 - The Trial in the Press
By midnight, San Antonio was in chaos.
The story had broken nationwide. Elena Vance, despite being held in federal custody, had managed to leak a single page of my father's red notebook to the Houston Chronicle before her arrest. The headline dominated every news channel across the country: DEATH ROW INMATE GAVIN COLE FRAMED BY PROSECUTOR: EVIDENCE SURFACES.
Images of Marcus Vance, Warden Mitchell, and the high-ranking officials named in the ledger were flashing across cable news broadcasts in every diner, bar, and living room in the state.
I rode through the storm like a ghost, the rain stinging my face as I navigated the motorcycle toward the safe house where Sarah Jenkins held my daughter.
I knew Vance’s target. He wouldn't go to his office. He wouldn't go home. He needed Chloe as leverage to force me into trading the notebook for her life.
At 1:15 AM, I pulled the motorcycle into the wooded driveway of a secluded cabin forty miles north of the city. The house was dark, surrounded by towering pine trees.
A single black sedan was parked near the front porch. The driver's door was left open, the interior light casting a dim glow onto the wet grass.
I drew the stolen pistol from my jacket, stepping softly through the mud.
The front door of the cabin was standing ajar. The lock had been picked.
Inside, the living room was upside down. Chairs were overturned, pictures knocked off the walls. Sitting in the center of the room, tied to a wooden chair with thick zip-ties, was Sarah Jenkins, Chloe’s foster mother. She was conscious, a dark bruise forming over her left eye.
"Gavin..." she whispered, her voice trembling with terror. "They... they took her."
I rushed over, using my pocket knife to slice through the plastic bindings. "Where did he take her, Sarah? Where is Vance?"
"He had two men with him," Sarah sobbed, clutching her bruised wrist. "He said... he said he was taking her to the old iron foundry by the docks. He said if you weren't there in thirty minutes with the original book, he would make sure she never spoke again."
I looked at my watch. 1:28 AM.
I helped Sarah to her feet, hand-feeding her a glass of water from the sink. "Call Elena Vance's team. Tell them to bring every news camera in Texas to the Galveston iron foundry. Don't call the local police—half of them are on Vance's payroll. Call the media."
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"Gavin, you can't go there alone!" Sarah cried, grabbing my coat. "It’s a trap!"
I looked at her, my eyes cold as ice. "Five years ago, I let them take me without a fight because I thought the law would protect my family. I was wrong. I'm not a prisoner anymore, Sarah. I'm her father."
