Chapter 7 - The Hidden WardZ
My hands froze over the glowing keyboard, my chest heaving as tears blurred my vision.
“David...” I choked out, pressing my trembling fingers against the glass monitor screen.
He looked older, tired, his face drawn and pale, but there was no mistaking those eyes. The man I had grieved for six excruciating years, the father my children thought was buried beneath a cold marble headstone, was breathing. He was being held captive inside one of Agatha’s private facilities.
“Gabrielle! Did the mirror download start?” Samuel asked, stepping into the server room while keeping his eyes trained on the hallway outside.
“Samuel... look at this,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
Samuel walked over, his eyes widening as he stared at the live camera feed. “My God. He’s alive. She kept her own son locked in a private psychiatric ward for six years.”
I scrambled through the metadata attached to the video feed, my fingers flying across the keys. “Where is Facility 4? Where is this camera coming from?”
The screen updated with a physical address:
FACILITY 4: HALL CREST REHABILITATION CENTER - SAN JACINTO WING
LOCATION: 1420 MOUNTAIN VIEW ROAD, PALM SPRINGS, CA
“It’s a restricted wing inside Bruce’s own hospital system,” Samuel said, realization striking him like a lightning bolt. “That’s why she needed Dr. Vance! Vance wasn't just falsifying your psychiatric records, Gabrielle—he was acting as David’s warden! She hid her stolen son in plain sight inside Bruce’s institution!”
MIRROR PROCESS: 100% COMPLETE
DATA TRANSMITTED TO FBI REGIONAL OFFICE - LOS ANGELES
A green confirmation bar flashed across the screen. The financial records, the forged autopsy, and the live video evidence of David’s illegal imprisonment had just been beamed directly to federal authorities.
“We got it,” Samuel said grimly. “Now we need to get out of here before—”
CLACK.
The harsh sound of heavy steel locking mechanisms echoed through the room. The main server door slammed shut, its electronic keypad glowing a solid, sinister red.
Over the overhead intercom system, a familiar, chilling voice echoed through the cold, air-conditioned room.
“Did you really think it would be that easy, Gabrielle?”
Agatha’s voice was smooth, completely devoid of any panic. She was watching us through the server room's internal security cameras.
“Agatha,” I snarled, stepping toward the camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. “It’s over! The files have already been sent to the FBI! They know everything! They know David is alive!”
A low, cruel laugh rang out over the speakers. “The FBI? Do you know how long it takes for a federal agency to process an unsolicited data dump, verify digital signatures, and execute a search warrant? Hours. Days, even. By the time anyone in authority looks at those files, Facility 4 will be empty, and you will be dead.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “What have you done with my daughters?”
“Oh, don't worry about Olivia and Holly,” Agatha purred smoothly. “My security team picked them up from your armored vehicle five minutes ago while your bodyguard was busy playing detective in my server room. They are currently on their way to join their father at the San Jacinto wing. A tragic family reunion, don't you think?”
“You monster!” I screamed, throwing a metal keyboard against the glass panel covering the server racks. “If you touch a single hair on their heads, I will tear you apart with my bare hands!”
“You won't be doing anything, my dear,” Agatha said coldly. “The server room you are standing in is equipped with an automated clean-agent fire suppression system. Halon gas. It extinguishes fires by removing oxygen from the enclosed space. A tragic technical malfunction... caused by an unhinged woman attempting to sabotage a charitable organization.”
HISSSSSSS!
High-pressure nozzles mounted on the ceiling burst to life, spraying a thick, odorless cloud of gas into the sealed room.
“Samuel!” I gasped, coughing as the air instantly grew thin and heavy.
Samuel sprinted to the control panel beside the heavy steel door, pulling a tactical knife from his vest and ripping off the plastic cover. “Cover your mouth and nose! The gas starves the room of oxygen in less than two minutes!”
He jammed the blade into the wiring harness behind the keypad, trying to short-circuit the magnetic lock. Sparks flew, biting into his hands, but the door remained sealed shut.
My lungs began to burn. My head throbbed as oxygen deprivation kicked in almost immediately. I fell to my knees, grasping at my throat, my vision blurring around the edges as the image of David on the monitor screen began to fade into blackness.
I can’t die here, I thought desperately. My daughters are with her. David is waiting.
Through the haze of my failing consciousness, I heard the sound of heavy metal twisting.
BOOM!
The heavy steel server room door didn't unlock—it was violently blown inward by a localized breach charge. Smoke and fresh, oxygen-rich air surged into the room.
Two men in heavy tactical gear rushed through the smoke, pulling Samuel and me out into the hallway.
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I laid on the cold concrete corridor floor, gasping violently, drawing sweet, fresh air back into my starved lungs. Standing above me, holding a tactical shotgun, his suit jacket gone and his white shirt stained with dirt, was Bruce Hall.
“I told you, Agatha,” Bruce said, stepping over the shattered door frame, looking up at the security camera with cold, unyielding rage. “You don't get to play in my house.”
