Chapter 12 - THE RISING SUN
I backed away slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Stay back," I warned, gripping my car keys like a weapon.
"You ruined a billion-dollar equity firm, lady," the man sneered, tapping the wrench against his palm. "Mr. Clarke wants you to have an 'accident' before you testify at the federal grand jury next week."
He lunged forward, swinging the heavy wrench toward my head.
I threw myself to the side, tumbling over the hood of my car. The wrench smashed into the windshield, shattering the glass into a thousand spiderweb cracks.
I scrambled to my feet, sprinting toward the stairwell.
But my high heels slipped on the spilled brake fluid. I crashed hard onto the concrete, scraping my knees.
The man grabbed the back of my jacket, yanking me violently backward.
"Nowhere to run, sweetheart," he hissed, raising the wrench again.
Suddenly, a deafening screech of tires echoed through the concrete garage.
A black SUV roared around the corner, its headlights blinding us. It didn't slow down. It aimed directly for the man holding me.
The man let go of my jacket and dove out of the way just as the SUV slammed into the concrete pillar, pinning the man's leg between the bumper and the wall.
He screamed in agony, dropping the wrench.
The door of the SUV flew open.
Julian Vance stepped out.
He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. He looked incredibly calm as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.
"I saw you run out of the restaurant," Julian said, walking over and offering me his hand. "You looked terrified. I followed you."
I grabbed his hand, pulling myself up, shaking violently. "Thank you," I sobbed.
"Your mother told me to look out for you," Julian smiled gently. "I take my promises seriously."
Within ten minutes, the police swarmed the garage. The man confessed to the hit almost immediately to avoid being charged with attempted murder. He rolled on Vanessa’s father, providing the Feds with the final piece of evidence they needed to lock the billionaire away for the rest of his life.
I stood by the ambulance as the paramedics bandaged my scraped knees.
Detective Larson walked up to me.
"We got him, Mrs. Whitmore. Clarke is in custody. The threat is over."
"What about Robert?" I asked.
Larson shook her head in disgust. "We pulled the recordings of his phone call to you. Extortion, witness tampering, and conspiracy to conceal a felony. He just turned a ten-year sentence into twenty-five years without parole. He will never breathe free air again."
A profound, absolute weight lifted off my chest.
It was truly over.
One week later.
The new transmission tower was being built, funded entirely by Vance Media. The national syndication of "Sunday Morning Home" was set to debut in two days.
I walked into the broadcasting studio, holding two cups of hot chocolate.
Madison was sitting at the soundboard, wearing her favorite sweater, laughing with Mr. Collins as they tested the new microphone levels.
She looked so safe. So happy.
I walked over and handed her the hot chocolate.
"Ready for the big national debut tomorrow, co-host?" I asked, kissing the top of her head.
Madison took a sip and smiled up at me. "I'm ready. Grandma would be so proud of you, Mom."
I reached up and touched the two pins on my lapel.
The silver crescent moon. And the gold rising sun.
"She would be proud of us," I corrected gently.
I looked through the soundproof glass, out at the bustling radio station filled with people who respected us, who worked hard, and who believed in the power of connection.
I had survived a husband who tried to destroy me. I had protected my daughter. And I had reclaimed the legacy that rightfully belonged to my family.
May you like
I sat down in the broadcasting chair, pulled the microphone close, and smiled.
I was finally home.
