Chapter 7 - The Man Who Raised His Hand Again
Preston did not get Ivy.
He got an attorney.
That was the offer.
If he wanted to surrender, he could do it through counsel and law enforcement. If he wanted to provide evidence, he could provide evidence. If he wanted Ivy in the room, the answer was no.
Damen agreed faster than Selene expected.
Ivy did not.
“He’ll run,” she said.
“He already ran,” Selene answered.
“He’ll destroy the tape.”
“Then the tape is not worth your body.”
Ivy looked at Damen.
He said, “She’s right.”
Selene glanced at him.
“You’re getting irritatingly reasonable.”
“I’m experimenting.”
Preston’s attorney spent six hours negotiating a controlled surrender at a federal building.
At 4:00 p.m., Preston failed to appear.
At 4:09, his attorney stopped answering calls.
At 4:16, a hospital employee at Lakeshore Medical Center found a man using a visitor badge issued under another name.
He had asked for Ivy Holloway.
Ivy was not at Lakeshore.
Selene was.
She had transferred Nadia there for imaging after an old wrist injury began causing numbness, and she had gone along because Nadia still panicked around hospital intake desks.
Selene was standing near the emergency-department elevators when she saw Preston.
No suit.
Dark sweatshirt.
Baseball cap.
His face looked thinner than three nights earlier.
His eyes did not.
They found her immediately.
Selene stopped walking.
Nadia was ten feet behind her with a nurse.
“Go back inside,” Selene said without turning.
Preston smiled.
“There she is.”
Selene’s pulse hammered.
“You should surrender.”
“I tried.”
“No. You scheduled theater.”
He kept walking.
Security was visible near the ambulance doors.
Too far.
Selene reached slowly toward the panic button clipped to her visitor badge.
Preston saw.
“Don’t.”
His right hand went beneath his sweatshirt.
Selene stopped.
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want.”
“Ivy isn’t here.”
“I know.”
That chilled her more.
“Then why are you?”
“To fix a mistake.”
He glanced at Nadia.
Nadia recoiled.
Preston’s mouth curved.
“Two mistakes, apparently.”
Selene stepped between them.
“Leave her alone.”
“You really do collect damaged women, Doctor.”
Selene heard footsteps behind him.
Preston did too.
He turned.
Damen was walking down the corridor.
Black shirt.
Dark coat.
No visible weapon.
Two federal agents were behind him.
For once, he was not the most dangerous thing in the hallway.
The law was.
Preston’s hand came out from beneath his sweatshirt.
Empty.
He had been bluffing.
“Volkov,” he said.
Damen stopped fifteen feet away.
“Preston.”
“You bring the government now?”
“You brought yourself into a hospital looking for a woman you beat.”
Preston laughed.
“Still pretending you’re clean?”
“No.”
The answer surprised everyone.
Damen continued.
“But today is not about me.”
Preston’s face twisted.
“You think she believes you?”
He pointed at Selene.
“She knows what you are.”
Selene said, “I do.”
Damen did not look at her.
Preston’s eyes flicked toward the emergency exit.
One agent shifted.
“Mr. Holloway, keep your hands visible.”
Preston took one step backward.
Then, suddenly, he lunged toward Selene.
Not the exit.
Her.
His fist caught the side of her shoulder as she turned.
Pain exploded down her arm.
Damen moved.
He intercepted Preston before the second swing.
One hand caught Preston’s wrist.
The other drove a short punch into Preston’s chest and shoulder, enough to break momentum without sending anyone flying.
Preston swung wildly.
Damen took the hit along the jaw.
Then answered once.
A compact punch to the ribs.
Preston folded just enough for the agents to take him down.
Damen stepped back immediately.
No extra strike.
No threat.
No river.
Selene noticed.
Even while her shoulder burned.
The agents cuffed Preston.
He laughed from the floor.
“You think this changes anything?”
Selene looked down at him.
“No.”
His smile faded.
“It just stops you from changing what happens next.”
At the hospital, a doctor examined Selene’s shoulder.
Bruised.
No fracture.
Damen sat in the chair by the wall with an ice pack against his jaw.
Selene looked at him.
“You got hit.”
“I noticed.”
“You could have let the agents take him.”
“They were behind me.”
“That is not the same as being required to punch him.”
“No.”
She waited.
He looked at the ice pack.
“I wanted to.”
“Better answer.”
“Still bad?”
“Still honest.”
He smiled slightly.
Then an agent entered.
“Doctor Mercer?”
“Yes?”
“We found something in Mr. Holloway’s vehicle.”
Selene’s pulse jumped.
“The tape?”
“A microcassette, yes.”
Damen stood.
“Has anyone played it?”
“Not yet. We’re preserving it.”
Selene exhaled.
“Good.”
The agent continued.
“There was also a list.”
“What kind?”
“Clinics. Shelters. Transitional housing. Four states.”
Selene’s stomach tightened.
“North Lake?”
“Yes.”
“And Viktor?” Damen asked.
“One name appears repeatedly under the initials V.S.”
Preston had finally brought them the network he claimed he could trade.
Not because he surrendered.
Because he panicked.
That night, the microcassette was digitized under controlled evidence procedures.
Selene listened with Damen, his attorney, a federal investigator, and a housing-corruption prosecutor.
Her father’s voice came first.
Calm.
Professional.
“Mr. Sokolov, an emergency heat order is not negotiable.”
A younger man answered.
Viktor.
“You are making a paperwork problem into a business problem.”
“It is a child-with-pneumonia problem.”
Silence.
Then Viktor said:
“Your supervisor understands how this city works.”
David Mercer answered:
“Then my supervisor can explain it to Internal Affairs.”
The tape clicked.
New segment.
Another voice.
Franklin Weller, the deputy commissioner.
“David, withdraw the order.”
“No.”
“You’re not hearing me.”
“I hear you.”
“Then hear this too. Sokolov has friends. Your daughter answers your home phone.”
Selene stopped breathing.
Damen looked at her.
On tape, her father said nothing for several seconds.
Then:
“If anything happens to my family, I take this recording to the state.”
The tape ended.
Selene stared at the table.
Her father had not died because of the call.
There was still no evidence of that.
But he had been threatened.
He had known the system was corrupt.
And twenty-three years later, the same network had reached for another doctor, another woman, another clinic.
Damen’s voice was quiet.
“He tried.”
Selene looked at him.
“So did your mother.”
May you like
Damen closed his eyes.
For the first time, neither of them blamed the people who had been trapped inside the cold.
