Chapter 5 - The File on Clara Hayes
In the subterranean control room, the fluorescent light hummed loudly overhead.
Vincent sat at his main desk, a high-powered magnifying lamp turned on over the paper he had extracted from Clara’s bag.
It was an official visitor’s record and a release petition from the Pennsylvania State Penitentiary.
The prisoner’s name was listed as Julian Hayes.
Vincent picked up his encrypted satellite phone and dialed a ten-digit number. It rang twice before a raspy, intellectual voice answered.
“Rossi. It’s two in the morning.”
“I need a deep scrub on a prisoner,” Vincent said without greeting. “Julian Hayes. Pennsylvania State Penitentiary. I want his records, his conviction details, and his relation to Clara Hayes.”
“Give me ten minutes.”
The line went dead.
Vincent laid the paper down and leaned back, his eyes darting to Monitor 4. On the screen, Clara remained asleep in the chair, her hand resting near Matteo’s bed.
Ten minutes later, his computer monitor chimed. A secure PDF file downloaded onto the desktop.
Vincent opened the document and began reading.
Subject: Julian Hayes. Age: 28. Conviction: Vehicular Manslaughter, Second-Degree Assault. Sentence: 8 to 12 years.
Vincent scrolled down to the police report attached to the file.
Six years ago, a drunk driver had crossed the centerline on a rain-slicked highway outside Philadelphia, slamming head-on into a small sedan. The driver of the sedan was a twenty-six-year-old mother named Clara Hayes. Her four-year-old son, Daniel, was in the backseat.
The boy had died instantly upon impact.
Clara had spent six months in intensive care, undergoing four major surgeries on her spine and legs to regain the ability to walk.
The driver who killed her son was Julian Hayes—her ex-husband. A man with a long history of substance abuse and violent offenses.
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at the crime scene photographs attached to the file—the mangled metal, the shattered glass, the small booster seat stained with dark blood.
He scrolled further down.
Clara had spent the last two years working three jobs—not to support herself, but to pay for the private legal defense fees required to keep her ex-husband behind bars after he repeatedly applied for early parole. Her entire income from the Rossi estate was being wired directly to a victim advocacy law firm in Harrisburg.
Vincent felt a cold shock run through his veins.
She wasn't a spy. She wasn't a mob assassin. She wasn't a cold-hearted mercenary looking for a quick paycheck.
She was a mother who had lost her child to a sudden, violent tragedy, whose own body had been broken, and who had spent every waking hour since fighting to survive the wreckage of her life.
She saw herself in Matteo.
She saw her lost son in the paralyzed boy sitting by the window.
Vincent leaned forward, his hands trembling slightly as he closed the PDF file.
He remembered her words from the day before: “I care about the check clearing on the 1st and 15th... In exchange, your son gets kept alive, clean, and safe.”
It hadn't been an act of cynical indifference. It had been the desperate armor of a woman who had suffered so much pain she couldn't afford to let anyone see her bleed.
A soft knock sounded at the heavy steel door of the control room.
Vincent pressed a button, unlocking the electronic strike plate. The door swung open, and Dominic stepped inside, holding a thick leather folder.
“Vincent, my contact in Philly just sent over the file on Clara—”
“I already have it,” Vincent interrupted, his voice thick with emotion.
Dominic stopped, looking at his boss in surprise. “You know about the kid?”
“I know everything,” Vincent said, standing up from his chair. “She lost her son, Dominic. Her body was broken in the same crash that took him.”
Dominic sighed, his hard features softening slightly. “That explains why she knows how to handle physical therapy so well. She went through it herself.”
“It explains more than that,” Vincent murmured, looking up at Monitor 4. “It explains why she isn't afraid of me. A woman who has lived through hell doesn't care about a man with a gun.”
“What do we do now?” Dominic asked.
“We protect her,” Vincent said, his voice turning to steel. “Julian Hayes’ parole hearing is next month. Call our legal team in Philadelphia. Tell them to take over her ex-husband’s opposition filing. I want the finest prosecutors in the state making sure that man never sees the light of day again.”
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“Understood,” Dominic nodded. “And Lorenzo?”
Vincent’s face hardened. “Lorenzo thinks I’m weak because I love my son. He’s going to make his move soon. Increase the perimeter guards to twelve-hour shifts. Double the security on Matteo’s floor. If anyone attempts to cross those gates, kill them where they stand.”
