Chapter 6 - THE TICKET
“Hector, don’t do this!” I screamed at the intercom, my voice cracking with pure terror.
“Ten seconds, Mr. Vance,” Hector replied over the speaker.
I looked at Chloe. She was smiling, a wicked, triumphant grin spreading across her face.
“I told you, Alexander,” she whispered. “I win. I always win. Give me the coat and the bracelet.”
I looked down at the gun in my hand. I could shoot her. I could end her right now. But it wouldn’t stop Hector from pulling the trigger on my children upstairs.
“Give it to her, Marisol,” I choked out, lowering the weapon.
Marisol sobbed, clutching the silver medical bracelet. She reluctantly handed it, along with the red coat, to Chloe.
Chloe draped the coat over her arm and slipped the bracelet into her pocket, patting it smoothly.
“Smart boy,” Chloe condescended. She reached out and snatched the gun from my hand. I let her take it. I had no leverage.
“Let’s go,” Chloe ordered, pointing the weapon at my chest. “Upstairs.”
We walked out of the study and moved slowly up the grand staircase.
At the end of the long hallway, Hector stood in front of the heavy oak doors of the girls' bedroom. His face was bruised and bleeding from where I had hit him, but his eyes were cold and focused.
“I have the evidence,” Chloe said, walking up to him. “And I have the gold watch with the vault key. We’re leaving.”
“The police will be here in less than five minutes,” Hector stated flatly. “The automatic alarm triggered a dispatch.”
“Then we take a hostage,” Chloe said casually. She pointed the gun at the bedroom door. “Open it.”
“No!” I lunged forward, but Hector easily sidestepped me, driving the butt of his weapon into my ribs. I collapsed against the wall, gasping for air.
Hector kicked the bedroom door open.
Valeria and Sofia were huddled in the far corner of the room, crying, clutching each other tightly.
“Grab the little one,” Chloe ordered Hector. “She’s easier to carry.”
Hector stepped into the room.
Sofia screamed, burying her face in Valeria’s shoulder. Valeria, my fierce, brave nine-year-old, picked up a heavy wooden music box from her nightstand and threw it at Hector. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder.
“Stay away from her!” Valeria screamed.
Hector reached out and grabbed Sofia by the arm, pulling her off the floor.
“Daddy!” Sofia cried out, reaching for me.
“Let her go!” I roared, scrambling to my feet, but Chloe pressed the barrel of her gun hard against the back of my neck.
“Move, and I blow your spine out,” Chloe hissed.
Hector dragged Sofia into the hallway. The six-year-old was kicking and thrashing, crying hysterically.
Marisol was standing at the top of the stairs, her hands over her mouth, weeping silently.
“We go out through the garage,” Hector said, dragging my daughter toward the stairs. “My SUV is prepped.”
We moved down the stairs, a sick, terrifying parade. Chloe kept her gun pressed to my back. Hector carried a screaming Sofia under his arm.
We reached the kitchen, heading for the interior garage door.
“Stop crying, you little brat,” Chloe snapped at Sofia.
“Please!” I begged. “Chloe, take me. Let her stay. I’ll sign whatever you want. I’ll transfer the funds manually. Just let her go.”
“Too late for negotiations, Alexander,” Chloe smirked.
Hector reached the door leading to the garage. He reached out to turn the handle.
But it didn’t turn.
Hector frowned. He rattled the handle. It was locked from the other side.
“Open the door, Hector,” Chloe demanded.
“It’s deadbolted,” Hector said, panic finally creeping into his voice. “The biometric scanner has been disabled.”
“What do you mean disabled?” Chloe yelled.
Before Hector could answer, a loud, metallic sliding sound echoed from the other side of the door.
The door swung open.
Standing in the garage, flanked by four heavily armed police officers, was a woman.
She was dressed in a sharp business suit, holding a tablet.
Chloe froze.
It was Detective Miller. The lead investigator from Elena’s death three years ago. The one who had ruled it an aneurysm.
“Drop the weapons,” Detective Miller ordered, her voice echoing in the concrete garage. The four SWAT officers leveled their rifles directly at Hector and Chloe.
Hector slowly released Sofia. The little girl hit the floor and scrambled immediately behind my legs. I scooped her up, wrapping my body around her.
Hector dropped his gun.
But Chloe didn’t. She panicked, raising the weapon toward the detective.
“Don’t do it, Chloe!” I yelled.
But she wasn’t looking at the cops. She was looking at the piece of paper Detective Miller was holding.
It was a flight ticket.
“You think you’re smart, Chloe?” Detective Miller said calmly. “You think planting a fake flight ticket in Elena’s name to make us think she was planning to run away three years ago was a good idea?”
The reversal made my head spin.
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Elena hadn’t bought a ticket to Paris. Chloe had bought it, planted it, and used it to convince the police three years ago that Elena’s stress levels had caused the aneurysm while she was packing.
“We ran the credit card used to buy that ticket yesterday,” Detective Miller said. “It traced back to a shell corporation owned by your bankrupt father. You’ve been under surveillance for forty-eight hours. We’ve been listening to everything you said in this house.”
