Chapter 3 - Shadows of Vance Holdings
By midnight, the storm had turned into a blinding downpour. Martha’s old Ford F-150, borrowed from the neighboring barn with a quick note left on the workbench, rumbled down an unlit secondary highway sixty miles north of the house.
Leo was sound asleep on the bench seat between them, tucked under a wool blanket, his breath rhythmic and deep. His right knee was still wrapped tight, the white bandage now smudged with dark garden dirt.
Elena drove with both hands locked on the wheel, her eyes darting constantly to the rearview mirror.
“Explain it to me,” Martha said quietly, pulling the folded bus terminal receipt from her pocket and laying it flat on the dashboard under the warm orange glow of the radio lights. “All of it.”
Elena swallowed hard. “When I left Julian two years ago, I thought it was just about his temper. I thought he was just another arrogant man with too much money. But six months ago, I found out why his family’s firm—Vance Holdings—was so desperate to keep tabs on me after I got full custody.”
She paused, watching a pair of headlights approach from the opposite direction before passing harmlessly by.
“Vance Holdings isn't just a corporate investment group, Mom. They operate private, off-the-books medical research facilities in South America. Arthur Vance—Julian’s father—has a rare degenerative blood disease. He’s been using private genetic screening to find compatible family donors for illegal organ and tissue matches.”
Martha gasped, her hand instinctively hovering over sleeping Leo’s head. “No... not a child. Not a two-year-old boy.”
“They don't care about his age,” Elena said, her voice dropping into a dark, bitter tone. “They care about his DNA. Leo carries the exact genetic markers Arthur needs. Julian was supposed to bring Leo back voluntarily, but when I won full custody, Arthur realized he couldn't use the courts anymore. So he sent Clara.”
Martha picked up the daycare worker badge again, examining the photo. “The girl wasn't a nanny. She was a trained operative.”
“She was a phlebotomist,” Elena corrected softly. “That bandage on Leo’s knee? He didn't fall off the armchair, Mom. Clara took a tissue sample right there on the playroom floor while I was in the kitchen making lunch. She was verifying his markers one last time before shipping him out on that 6:00 PM bus.”
May you like
Martha’s chest heaved with quiet rage. She looked down at her small, fragile grandson sleeping peacefully beside her. The fear that had gripped her in the playroom doorway transformed into something icy and immovable.
“We aren't just hiding, Elena,” Martha said firmly, looking out into the sheet of rain hitting the windshield. “We are going to destroy them.”
