Chapter 5 - The Motel in Joliet
The neon sign of the Blue Spruce Motel buzzed and flickered in the misty night air off Route 66.
Inside Room 14, Karen Vance was packing a duffel bag with stolen jewelry and five thousand dollars in cash, watching a late-night talk show on the muted television. At forty-eight, Karen was a bitter, calculating woman whose addiction to high-stakes gambling had consumed every penny of her family trust.
"Stupid brat," Karen muttered to herself, zipping the bag. "Should've left her at the fire station instead of wasting gas driving to Lincoln Park."
Suddenly, the wooden door was blown inward off its hinges with a deafening, concussive crash.
Splintered wood and drywall flew across the room as four heavily armed tactical operators in dark combat gear swarmed inside, their laser sights painting bright red dots across Karen’s chest.
Karen shrieked, dropping her duffel bag, scrambling backward against the peeling wallpaper. "Who are you?! Take the money! Don't shoot!"
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed across the threshold.
Marcus Blackwell walked through the shattered doorway, stepping over the broken door frame. His overcoat was open, his dark hair damp from the mist, his piercing eyes looking down at her like an avenging titan.
Karen’s jaw dropped. Her face turned a sickly shade of ash gray.
"M-Marcus...?" Karen stammered, her voice shaking violently. "Marcus Blackwell?! You're... you're supposed to be in Chicago!"
Marcus stepped forward, stopping two feet from where she was cowering on the carpet.
"You left my daughter in the cold dirt at five o'clock in the morning, Karen," Marcus said, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of all humanity.
"D-Daughter...?" Karen gasped, sweat pouring down her face. "I... I don't know what you're talking about! I was just traveling through—"
Marcus didn't raise his voice. He simply signaled Viktor, who tossed a heavy leather portfolio onto the bed.
"We have your encrypted hard drives, Karen," Marcus stated. "We have the Swiss wire transfers. We have the Oregon medical leases. We have seven years of intercepted emails between you and your brother detailing how you faked my wife's death and trafficked my child."
Karen collapsed onto her knees, sobbing in hysterical, pathetic terror. "Julian forced me, Marcus! He threatened to cut me off! Grace was sick... she didn't know you were looking for her! Please... don't kill me!"
Marcus looked at the woman who had terrorized his flesh and blood with cold, unvarnished disgust.
"Death is too quick for what you did to my family, Karen," Marcus said softly.
May you like
Sirens wailed in the distance. Four federal marshals and two Cook County prosecutors stepped through the doorway, holding a sealed thirty-count federal indictment for kidnapping, fraud, human trafficking, and child abandonment.
As steel handcuffs clicked around Karen’s wrists and she was dragged out into the rain, Marcus turned his back on the room, walking toward his waiting helicopter, his mind entirely focused on the two little girls waiting at home.
