Chapter 4 - The Subpoena
The physical therapy sessions were pure torture.
Dr. Harrison and a stern, no-nonsense physical therapist named Marcus forced me out of bed on the fifth week, making me walk the length of the burn unit hallway while my right arm was stretched slowly, millimeter by millimeter, to prevent the healing skin from fusing into a permanent claw. Every step felt like walking on broken glass. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent, but I didn't stop.
I refused to stop.
If I couldn't walk out of this hospital on my own two feet, standing tall, then Caleb and his family had won.
By week six, the bandages on my face and neck were removed, revealing angry, pink, shiny new skin that would take years to fully fade. My hair was growing back in awkward, uneven tufts around my jawline, making me look like a survivor of a shipwreck—which, in a way, I was.
Detective Miller returned on a Tuesday afternoon, looking remarkably cheerful for a homicide and white-collar crime investigator. He didn't sit down this time; he stood at the foot of my bed with a wide, satisfied grin.
"Well, Ms. Hayes," Miller said, tossing a thick manila envelope onto the bed table. "Your memory proved to be remarkably accurate."
I looked at the envelope. "You found the safe?"
"We found the safe. And more importantly, we found the backup hard drive," Miller said, leaning against the metal bed rail. "It survived the fire without a scratch. And let me tell you, Hollywood couldn't script what's on that little silver drive."
"What's on it?" I asked, though I already had a grim idea.
"Audio and video from the study on the night of the fire," Miller said, his tone turning professional. "We have footage of Mr. Sterling arguing with his chief financial officer about missing funds from the firm's real estate escrow accounts—embezzlement totaling over four million dollars. We have footage of him accidentally knocking over a heavy glass ashtray onto the rug while trying to destroy physical ledgers. And, best of all, we have clear audio of him locking the heavy oak study door from the inside to contain the smoke, leaving you trapped in the hallway without a second thought."
A cold shudder ran down my spine. I had suspected he was a coward, but hearing that he had intentionally locked the door to cover his tracks—leaving me to burn—was a visceral, sickening blow.
"Is that enough for an arrest?" I asked quietly.
"Embezzlement, insurance fraud, reckless endangerment, and filing a false police report," Miller ticked them off on his fingers. "The district attorney is drawing up the indictments as we speak. Furthermore, Mr. Sterling’s corporate partners at Vanguard Capital have already pulled out of the merger after receiving an anonymous tip with preliminary excerpts from the drive."
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Miller paused, looking down at me with genuine respect. "You're going to be called as a primary witness for the prosecution when this goes to trial, Ms. Hayes. His legal team is going to try to shred your credibility. They're going to paint you as a disgruntled ex-employee seeking revenge."
"Let them try," I said, lifting my right hand—still stiff, still scarred, but steady. "I have the scars to prove who walked through the fire. And Caleb has nothing left to hide behind."
