Chapter 7 - The Interrogation
Mark spun around, his fists clenching defensively, but stopped short when he saw the gold shield clipped to the lapel of the man standing over him. Beside the detective stood two uniformed patrol officers, their expressions devoid of sympathy.
""Mark Harrison?"" the detective asked, flicking rainwater from the brim of his fedora. ""Detective Miller, Central Investigation. We need you to come downtown.""
""Downtown?"" Mark stammered, holding up the plastic hospital bracelet in his palm. ""Look, my family just left. My wife and newborn son are in that car! I have every legal right to know where they're taking my child!""
""Right now, Mr. Harrison, your son's location is a matter of protective custody,"" Miller replied, gesturing toward an unmarked cruiser idling at the curb. ""We’re more interested in the 911 recording we pulled from the county dispatch server this morning. The one that was logged twelve minutes after you left your driveway.""
Mark froze, the rain dripping from the bridge of his nose. ""What recording?""
""The one where a neighbor called to report a hit-and-run against a pedestrian in your subdivision,"" Detective Miller said, leaning in slightly, his eyes narrowing. ""A pedestrian who matches the description of the rideshare driver you hired to take you to LAX.""
A cold, sickening weight dropped into Mark’s stomach. The ride to the airport. When the Uber had pulled away from his home, the driver had been distracted, repeatedly looking back toward the open doorway where Clara had fallen. Mark had yelled at him to accelerate, slamming his hand against the dashboard to force the man to focus on the road.
""The driver had an accident?"" Mark asked, his voice shaking.
""He didn't have an accident, Mr. Harrison. He was struck by an oncoming commercial van while trying to reverse back toward your house to render aid,"" Miller said, opening the rear door of the police car. ""He’s currently in an induced coma at Saint Jude's with severe cranial trauma. And his dashcam unit—the one recording the conversation inside the cabin before the impact—is missing from the wreckage.""
The detective looked down at Mark’s silver suitcase sitting abandoned under the building’s awning.
""The driver’s family claims the dashcam contained footage showing you bribed, threatened, and physically interfered with the operator while he was attempting to call emergency services for your wife,"" Miller said quietly. ""Get in the car.""
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Mark looked back toward the corporate tower. High above, on the executive penthouse floor, the lights were on. Behind the tinted glass, he could faintly make out the silhouette of several board members watching the street below.
He didn't speak. He stepped into the rear of the cruiser, the door locking shut with an unmistakable click. As the car pulled into traffic, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A new email from the Vance Trust legal team had arrived, containing a single attachment: a PDF of a restraining order that listed his own mother as an authorized guardian for Julian—leaving Mark completely isolated from his entire bloodline.
