“Look at you,” Beatrice chuckled, stepping toward the side of my bed with her arms crossed. “Laying here like a dramatic victim. You really thought crawling out into the rain was going to save you? All you did was waste hospital money.”
Mason tossed the flowers onto the foot of my bed, right near my bandaged leg, causing a sharp pang of discomfort. He leaned over me, his eyes cold and condescending.
“You made a huge mistake running off, Danielle,” Mason said softly, his voice full of arrogance. “We already spoke to the local precinct. We told them you’ve been struggling with severe mental instability since the miscarriages. By tomorrow, I’ll have full power of attorney over your bank accounts and your medical decisions. You’re coming right back to the house, and this time, you won’t have a voice at all.”
Richard stood near the door, chuckling quietly. “Your father tried to call yesterday. We told him you were taking a long retreat and didn’t want to be disturbed. Nobody is coming to help you, girl.”
I lay completely still, looking directly into Mason’s eyes. I didn’t shed a single tear. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t argue. With total calm, I slid my thumb across the recording device hidden under the sheet, pressing the small red button to save the audio file, and then reached for the bedside phone to dial Victoria’s direct line.
“It’s done,” I said into the receiver.
Mason frowned, reaching out to snatch the phone from my hand. “Who are you calling? Give me that—”
Before his fingers could touch the receiver, the hospital room door burst open with a loud thud. Four uniformed state troopers, accompanied by two federal agents in dark suits, stepped into the room. Behind them stood Victoria Vance and my brother David, holding a stack of signed arrest warrants.
Beatrice gasped, stepping back into Richard, who turned pale instantly.
“Mason Vance, Beatrice Vance, and Richard Vance,” the lead federal agent announced, his voice echoing in the small room. “You are all under arrest for aggravated battery, false imprisonment, grand theft, and conspiracy.”
“This is a misunderstanding!” Mason shouted, his arrogant demeanor instantly vanishing as a trooper forced his arms behind his back and snapped hand-cuffs onto his wrists. “She’s my wife! She fell down the stairs! She’s mentally unstable!”
“Save it for the judge,” the officer replied, pulling Mason toward the hallway.
Victoria stepped forward, holding up a tablet that showed live footage from Mason’s house. “While you three were planning how to control my client, state authorities executed a search warrant on your residence two hours ago. They seized the wooden rolling pin with blood evidence, the locked safes containing Danielle’s stolen documents, and five years of fraudulent tax records detailing how you funneled her salary into your personal accounts.”
Beatrice began to cry out in panic as she was cuffed, her former malice replaced by sheer terror. “Mason, do something! Call our lawyer!”
“Your lawyer won’t be able to help you,” David said coldly, watching them get led out in restraints. “The state attorney general has taken this case personally.”
As they were dragged down the hallway in full view of the hospital staff and visitors, Mason turned back one last time, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. I met his gaze, raised my hand slightly, and watched the heavy wooden door swing shut behind them forever.
