Chapter 8 - A Poisoned Cup and the Desperate Midnight Escape
While Arthur’s sedan sped toward the mountain ridge, the radio scanner on the dashboard crackled to life with a transmission from Team Bravo at my house.
“Chief Vance, this is Sergeant Reynolds at the Vance residence. We have Mark Vance and Evelyn Vance in custody. Both suspects are secured in transport units.”
“Did you recover the electronic devices and the briefcase?” Arthur asked into the mic.
“Affirmative, Chief,” Reynolds replied. “We recovered the offshore banking receipts, the signed contract with Victoria Henderson, and two half-filled glasses of scotch. Furthermore, the crime lab unit just tested the teapot on the kitchen counter. It tested positive for high-concentration Rohypnol—enough to induce a coma-like sleep for eighteen hours. Mark Vance was attempting to incapacitate Mrs. Vance completely.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine. Mark hadn't just given me a mild sedative; he had poisoned my tea with a heavy date-rape drug, intending to leave me paralyzed and defenseless while he ensured our baby vanished forever.
“Did Mark say anything?” Arthur inquired.
“He refused to speak without his lawyer, but when we loaded his mother into the cruiser, Evelyn screamed that Julian Henderson would destroy us before morning. She said Henderson has private security teams that will shoot anyone who steps foot on Ravenridge property.”
Arthur switched off the radio mic, his jaw clenched tight. “Henderson’s private army doesn't scare me. We’re ten minutes out from the estate. Elena, listen to me carefully.”
He turned around in his seat to face me.
“Detective Miller and two female officers will stay with Leo in the armored transport vehicle at the base of the driveway. You will stay behind the tactical line until we secure the upper floor. Once the building is locked down, you will step in to confirm Lucas’s identity. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I replied.
Ten minutes later, the sedan turned off the main highway and began winding up the steep, fog-shrouded curves of Ravenridge Crest Road. Tall iron fences topped with security wire stretched endlessly through the pine trees.
Through the dense woods, the massive stone mansion of the Henderson estate emerged like a glowing castle. Floodlights illuminated manicured lawns, and dozens of luxury cars—Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, and Maybachs—were lined up in the sprawling circular driveway.
Violin music and the clinking of champagne glasses drifted faintly through the cold night air from the brightly lit ballroom on the ground floor.
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Arthur’s sedan pulled into a concealed service road two hundred yards below the main gate, joining six unmarked tactical SUVs carrying twenty heavily armed state police officers.
The raid was ready.
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