Chapter 7 - The Burning Bridge-7
Before Clara’s hands could reach my neck, my father stepped into her path, his large frame blocking her completely. He didn't hit her; he simply grabbed her wrists, holding her in place with an iron grip while I continued speaking to the emergency dispatcher.
"The suspect is Clara Vance," I said clearly into the phone, giving our address, ignoring Clara’s hysterical shrieks. "We have physical evidence of illegal organ procurement, financial records, and medical documentation on site. Please hurry."
I ended the call and tossed my phone onto a dry table.
Clara was thrashing violently against my father’s hold, her polite, high-society facade entirely destroyed. "You idiot! You utter idiot, Maya! You just threw your life away! Your husband is going to prison! You're going to lose your house! You'll be bankrupt!"
"Maybe I will," I said, stepping right up to her, my face inches from hers. "Maybe Glen will go to prison for what he did. Maybe I'll lose this house and have to start over from scratch in a studio apartment. But my daughter will grow up knowing that her mother didn't let a monster buy her family piece by piece."
Glen looked up from the ground, his eyes red and swollen. For the first time since this nightmare began, a strange look of clarity washed over his face. He stood up slowly, wiping his eyes with the back of his trembling hand.
"She's right," Glen said, his voice quiet but steady. "She's right, Clara."
Clara stopped thrashing, staring at Glen in shock. "What?"
"I was a coward," Glen said, taking a step toward us. "I let you manipulate me. I let you scare me into giving up my skin, my organ, and my dignity because I was terrified of going to jail. But I'm done being afraid of you. If I have to go to prison to pay for my debts and my theft, I'll do it. At least my daughter won't have to look at me and see a slave."
Clara’s face turned an ugly, mottled shade of red. "You pathetic little worm—"
"Save it, Clara," my father interrupted, his voice hollow. He released her wrists and took a step back, looking at her with pure disgust. "The police are on their way. If you try to run, I will personally hold you down until they get here."
Clara smoothed her shirt down, breathing heavily, her posture stiffening once more as she realized she had lost control of the room. "You think you've won?" she whispered sneeringly. "You think a small-town police department can prosecute a multi-million-dollar international medical network? My lawyers will have me out on bail before midnight, and every single piece of paper in that notebook will be deemed inadmissible."
"Maybe," I said, holding the black leather notebook tight against my chest. "But Dr. Harrison at St. Jude’s won't be so lucky. He already confirmed on speakerphone that the tissue on your stomach is a 99.9% DNA match to Glen. And his lab run is recorded in their hospital database."
Clara’s eyes flicked with a sudden, genuine spike of fear. She had forgotten about the doctor.
Sirens wailed in the distance, their sharp, rhythmic cries echoing through the quiet suburban neighborhood, drawing closer with every second.
My mother-in-law, Brenda, opened the glass sliding doors slightly, her face pale as she looked out at us. "Maya... the police are turning onto the street."
"Keep the kids inside, Brenda," I said softly without turning around.
Two minutes later, four police cruisers pulled up to the front curb, their red and blue lights flashing against the tree-lined street. Officers jogged through the side gate into the backyard, their hands resting on their holsters as they took in the scene: my drenched, tear-stained family, Glen bruised and shivering, my father standing guard, and Clara standing by the pool like a deposed queen.
"Who called 911?" the lead officer, a stern-looking sergeant named Miller, asked, looking around the patio.
"I did," I said, stepping forward. I handed him the black leather notebook, along with my phone showing the call history to St. Jude’s Hospital. "Officer, my stepmother just admitted to purchasing my husband's kidney and skin flap through an illegal international trafficking ring, and extortion."
Sergeant Miller looked at the wet notebook, then looked at Clara. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to step over here."
Clara didn't move. "I demand to call my attorney immediately. This is a private family dispute and a malicious fabrication—"
"Ma'am," Sergeant Miller repeated, his tone dropping into an unyielding command. "Step over here. Now."
May you like
As two officers stepped forward to escort Clara toward the gate, she turned her head slowly to look at me one last time. Her eyes were black with a cold, promises of vengeance.
"This isn't over, Maya," Clara hissed as the handcuffs clicked around her manicured wrists. "You haven't seen the bottom of this ocean yet."
