Chapter 23 - The Highway North
The winter storm hit them sixty miles north of the Twin Cities, turning Interstate 35 into a whiteout of blinding powder and howling crosswinds.
Camille gripped the wheel of the nondescript maintenance truck they had hotwired from the bank’s loading dock, her knuckles white against the cracked plastic. In the passenger seat, Vivian had Julian’s old ledger open on her lap, using a small penlight to trace the names of the doctors and administrators listed in the payment logs.
"One of those Suburbans was behind us until Hinckley," Camille said, glancing into the side mirror through the crust of road salt. "I took the frontage road through the pine barrens like you said, but if Helena has Duluth locked down, we’re driving straight into a trap."
"Helena thinks she is dealing with Julian," Vivian replied, not looking up from the pages. "She thinks that because I’m pregnant, because I lost my marriage and ran away in the snow, I’m looking for an excuse to surrender. She expects a grieving daughter begging for her mother’s life."
"And what are you?" Camille asked, her voice quiet against the rattle of the old truck’s heater.
Vivian looked out at the endless wall of black spruce trees whipping in the blizzard. "I am the woman who took Matteo’s empire from under his pillow while he slept, Camille. Matteo was an arrogant child who thought cruelty equaled strength. But Helena... Helena is an architect. And architects make one fatal mistake."
"What’s that?"
"They assume their structures can never fall from the inside."
Vivian tapped her finger on the name of Dr. Arthur Finch. She picked up her burner phone and dialed a number she had committed to memory from the bank documents—not the main line of the hospital, but a private residential number in Duluth registered to Finch’s wife.
The phone rang four times before an elderly woman answered, her voice trembling. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Finch," Vivian said smoothly. "My name is Vivian Vance. I am the daughter of Julian Vance."
A sharp intake of breath echoed through the receiver. "We... we have nothing to say to you. My husband retired three years ago. The lawyers told us—"
"The lawyers lied to you," Vivian interrupted coldly. "In exactly forty minutes, an encrypted file containing twenty-four years of offshore wire transfers from Helena Vance to your husband’s private account in the Cayman Islands will be automatically forwarded to the Internal Revenue Service and the Minneapolis field office of the FBI. Do you know what happens to the assets of an accomplice to criminal confinement and money laundering, Mrs. Finch?"
"Arthur was only following orders!" the woman cried out, panic cracking her voice. "He tried to discharge her ten years ago! Helena threatened our children!"
"Then help me save her," Vivian demanded. "Where is Evelyn Hale right now? She’s not in the main wing of St. Jude’s, is she?"
There was a long silence, broken only by the muffled sound of a man’s agitated voice in the background. Then Dr. Finch himself took the receiver, his breathing heavy and rattling with age.
"Julian’s girl," Finch gasped. "Listen to me very carefully. Helena’s private transport arrived at the sanitarium six hours ago. They are shutting down the fourth-floor annex. The state revoked the facility's operating license last month after an audit."
"Where are they moving her?" Vivian demanded, leaning forward.
"They aren't moving her to another hospital," Finch said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Helena bought an old timber estate on the bluffs overlooking Lake Superior, north of Two Harbors. Split Rock Point. She has a private medical team stationed there. If they get Evelyn onto that compound, you will never see her again. It has its own airstrip. There’s a private transport plane scheduled to leave for Montreal at midnight."
"Why Montreal?"
"Because once she crosses the Canadian border under the medical transport waiver, the Vance family trust’s jurisdiction falls under maritime maritime-charter law. Helena can execute the power of attorney without U.S. court oversight."
Vivian’s heart hammered against her ribs, but her mind remained cold and clear. "What floor is she on right now in Duluth? Is she still at St. Jude's?"
"They are loading the private medical transport at the rear bay of St. Jude’s annex as we speak," Finch admitted. "The snow delayed their convoy. But Vivian... there are four armed men with the transport team. They aren't hospital orderlies. They’re Vance security from the old crew in Chicago."
"Thank you, Doctor," Vivian said. "Leave your house tonight. Because when this breaks, Carter won't care that you were threatened."
She hung up without waiting for his response and turned to Camille.
"Take the highway bypass around Duluth," Vivian ordered. "We don't go to the main entrance. We go to the industrial freight bay off 24th Avenue."
Camille shifted down, the engine groaning as the truck surged through the deepening drifts. "Vivian... there are four armed men. We have an old maintenance truck and a legal ledger. What are we going to do when we get there?"
Vivian reached beneath the passenger seat and pulled out the heavy steel tire iron she had retrieved from the bank’s maintenance locker.
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"We don't need to fight all four of them," Vivian said, her dark eyes flashing in the dashboard glow. "We just need to make sure the plane never leaves the ground."
***
