Chapter 4 - Night at the Firm
I refused to let my son step out into that stormy night alone. After ensuring the officer outside was fully aware of Lily’s presence upstairs, I grabbed my coat and followed Daniel out to my car.
I drove through the heavy downpour, the windshield wipers slapping furiously against the glass as we sped toward the downtown financial district. I put Detective Alvarez on speakerphone, the phone resting on the dashboard as I navigated the slick, darkened streets.
"We have two patrol units turning onto Grand Avenue now, Mrs. Wilson!" Alvarez’s voice barked over the static of the storm. "Do not engage! Hold your position in the parking garage until backup secures the lobby!"
"He’s an old man, Detective!" Daniel shouted toward the phone. "If Arthur refuses to sign those papers, Vanessa and David won't just leave him tied up—they’ll eliminate the only witness who can prove the transfer was forged!"
We pulled into the desolate plaza in front of the twenty-story glass tower that housed Pendelton & Associates. The street was eerie and empty, illuminated only by the yellow glow of streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement. Up on the fourth floor, a single set of fluorescent lights burned brightly behind the tinted glass.
The front revolving doors of the building were unlocked, a small wooden wedge holding the frame open.
"I'm not waiting," Daniel said, unbuckling his seatbelt.
"We go together," I insisted. Reaching under the driver's seat, my hands found the heavy steel lug wrench I kept next to the spare tire. I pulled it out, clutching the cold metal firmly in my coat pocket.
We slipped into the dark, echoing marble lobby and took the emergency stairwell, bypassing the elevators to avoid making sound. Our footsteps echoed softly against the concrete as we bounded up four flights of stairs. The air inside the fourth-floor hallway smelled faintly of industrial floor cleaner and the sharp, coppery tang of fresh blood.
Daniel pushed open the heavy door to the law firm.
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The main reception area was a disaster area. Paperwork was scattered across the carpet like fallen snow, filing cabinets had been pried open, and framed law diplomas hung crooked on the walls.
From behind the frosted glass doors of Arthur Pendelton’s private corner office, voices were raised in violent argument.
