Chapter 3 - THE COMING STORM
The roar of the police helicopter’s blades echoed through the concrete rafters of the garage as it touched down on the hospital’s roof pad six minutes later.
Three minutes after that, the double doors of the garage elevator swung open.
My father stepped out. He was dressed in his dark tailored suit, a long black overcoat draped over his broad shoulders. Behind him walked two senior detectives from the Major Crimes Unit and his personal legal counsel, Prosecutor Vance Reynolds.
My father didn't look at the shattered Volvo. He didn't look at the crime scene tape. His sharp blue eyes swept the room until they locked onto me.
He walked straight over to the cruiser, knelt down in front of me despite his bad knee, and took both of my cold hands in his broad, warm palms.
"Are you hurt, Nora?" he asked softly, searching my face with razor-sharp intensity.
"I'm fine, Dad," I whispered, tears finally slipping down my cheeks as I looked into his worn, stern face. "Clara is fine. We just got out of the ultrasound."
He took the thermal ultrasound photo from my hand, smoothed out the creases with his thumb, and stared at the tiny image of his granddaughter for a long, quiet moment. Then he carefully slid it into his coat pocket, right next to his heart.
He stood up. The gentle grandfather vanished instantly. In his place stood the Police Commissioner of the city.
He walked over to the ruined Volvo, examining the jagged white lettering carved into the hood. HOMEWRECKER. BABY TRAP. HE’S MINE.
He looked inside the back seat at the shredded infant seat, his jaw muscles clenching so hard I could hear his teeth grind from ten feet away.
"Captain Harris," my father said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
"Sir!" Harris stepped forward immediately.
"Who is the registered owner of the suspect vehicle?"
"Chelsea Vance, sir," Harris replied, reading from his notepad. "Twenty-eight years old. Employed as Executive Assistant to Jason Sullivan at Sullivan & Croft Financial. The vehicle is a 2024 Audi A5, leased under a corporate subsidiary registered to Sullivan & Croft."
My father stopped. He turned around slowly. "The car she used to attack my daughter was leased by my son-in-law's firm?"
"Yes, Commissioner," Harris confirmed. "Furthermore, our digital unit just pulled Chelsea Vance’s public social media accounts. Ten minutes ago, she posted the three selfies she took in front of your daughter’s ruined car to her Instagram account."
"What was the caption?" my father asked.
Harris hesitated, looking uncomfortably at his tablet. "The caption reads: 'Teaching pathetic baby-trapping wives what happens when they try to hold onto a man who belongs to someone else. #SorryNotSorry #CleanSweep.'"
A low, dangerous chuckle escaped my father’s throat—a sound that sent a cold shiver down the spine of every police officer standing in the garage.
"Vance," my father said, looking at his senior prosecutor.
"Yes, Commissioner?" Prosecutor Reynolds stepped forward, pulling a yellow legal pad from his briefcase.
"What are we looking at here?"
"Given the premeditated destruction of property, the use of a deadly weapon—the tire iron—the targeted destruction of an infant restraint device, and the explicit messaging," Reynolds stated coldly, "we are looking at Felony Vandalism, Stalking, Terroristic Threats, and Aggravated Harassment. Because your daughter is in her third trimester, I can also make a strong argument for Reckless Endangerment of an Unborn Child."
"Good," my father said. "Issue an immediate arrest warrant for Chelsea Vance. Do not execute it at her home."
Captain Harris blinked. "Sir? Where do you want us to pick her up?"
My father pulled out a gold pocket watch, clicked it open, and checked the time. It was 3:15 PM.
"Jason told my daughter he was in the middle of his firm’s quarterly board meeting at their main office on Grand Avenue," my father said softly. "I believe Miss Vance is currently celebrating her little afternoon project right there in their executive lounge."
My father looked at Captain Harris. "Take three marked units. Turn on every siren you have. Escort Prosecutor Reynolds, the forensic team, and myself to the headquarters of Sullivan & Croft Financial. We are going to execute the warrant in the middle of their board meeting."
"Dad," I called out from the cruiser.
My father turned back to me, his eyes softening instantly. "Yes, sweetheart?"
I pulled off my heavy blanket, stood up on my own two feet, and smoothed down my coat over my baby bump.
"I'm coming with you," I said firmly. "I want to be in the room when you serve it."
May you like
My father looked at me for three seconds. A faint, proud smile touched the corner of his stern lips.
"Get in my car, Nora," he said. "Let’s go introduce your husband to the rest of your family."
