Chapter 6 - The Extraction Under Midnight
While the guests scrambled toward the front door, desperate to distance themselves from the unfolding nightmare, Marcus Vance’s security detail calmly secured the perimeter. No one was leaving until federal and state authorities arrived.
“Marcus,” I commanded, pointing toward the basement door. “Get Dr. Althaus down there. I want Wyatt brought up safely, and I want an immediate medical assessment of his injuries. Prepare the medical transport van parked outside.”
“Right away, Abraham,” Marcus nodded, signaling two men to follow him.
Sabrina tried to bolt toward the kitchen, but one of the security guards stepped smoothly into her path, blocking the exit with immovable authority.
“Let me go!” Sabrina screamed, tears of pure rage and terror finally spilling down her cheeks. “You can’t do this! This is our house! We have rights!”
“You gave up your rights the moment you put a chain around my son’s ankle,” I said, stepping right up to her. The sheer difference in our presence made her shrink back against the wall.
A moment later, heavy footsteps echoed from the basement stairs. Dr. Althaus—a brilliant trauma surgeon whom I had kept on retainer for our long-haul drivers—led the way, while two men carefully carried Wyatt up on a specialized spine board.
Wyatt looked pale and exhausted, his leg immobilized in a temporary pneumatic splint, but when he saw me standing there in the living room, a weak, grateful smile touched his lips.
“Dad...” he whispered.
“I’ve got you, son,” I said, walking over and placing my hand gently on his shoulder. “You’re safe now. The nightmare is over.”
Dr. Althaus looked up at me, his expression grim. “Abraham, the bone damage is severe. He’s going to need orthopedic surgery immediately. There’s also clear evidence of chemical dependency induced by repeated forced injections of heavy sedatives. We need to get him to our private clinic in Kansas City tonight.”
“Do it,” I said.
As they wheeled Wyatt past Sabrina and Irving, my son didn't even look at his wife. His eyes were completely blank of any emotion toward her—the final, absolute death of a marriage built on lies and greed.
Irving tried to puff out his chest one last time as Marcus approached him with a pair of heavy-duty zip-ties.
“You can’t do this!” Irving shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. “I’m a pillar of this community! I’ll sue you into the stone age! I’ll—!”
Click.
The zip-ties fastened tightly around Irving’s wrists.
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“You’re not suing anyone, Irving,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. “In fact, you’re about to meet some very interested people from the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the State Attorney General’s office. I sent them the financial records you forged, along with the audio file of your daughter using a high-heel shoe to torture my son.”
Irving stopped struggling. His jaw went slack, and he stared at the floor as the weight of absolute, unescapable defeat finally crushed him.
