Chapter 8 - The Bail Bond Loophole
"Bailed out?" I sat straight up in bed, ignoring the sharp pull of my postpartum stitches. "How is that possible? He tried to commit triple homicide! He locked me and his own unborn children in a sub-zero freezer!"
"A federal judge in Chicago just signed an emergency release order twenty minutes ago," Liam said, pacing rapidly across the linoleum floor, running a hand through his dark hair. "His defense team argued that the initial arrest warrant contained a procedural technicality regarding jurisdictional boundaries between local police and federal marshals during an ongoing corporate investigation."
"That's a manufactured loophole," Vanessa snapped, slamming her hand against the armrest of her chair. "Julian Vance’s legal firm wrote that motion! They have judges in their pocket."
"It gets worse," Liam added, stopping his pacing to look directly at me. "The moment Michael walked out of the county detention facility, he didn't go home, and he didn't try to flee the state. He checked into a secure private residence downtown under corporate diplomatic immunity protection."
I stared at my brother, the reality of the situation settling over me like a heavy lead blanket. Michael wasn't running away because he knew something we didn't. He knew that the syndicate backing him was powerful enough to rewrite the rules of the game in real time.
"He's coming here, isn't he?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I looked instinctively toward the bassinets where my babies slept.
"The marshals at the door are doubling their watch," Liam said grimly, pulling his service pistol from his holster to check the magazine. "Nobody gets past this security detail. Nobody."
Just as the words left his mouth, the steady, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor beside my bed suddenly warped into a high-pitched, screeching whine.
The overhead fluorescent lights flickered once, twice, and then died completely, plunging the hospital room into absolute darkness.
"EMP shield," Vanessa hissed, dropping instantly to the floor as the emergency red backup strips kicked on along the baseboards. "Just like the warehouse."
Liam raised his weapon, pivoting toward the door as the heavy electronic locking mechanism on our hospital door clicked, buzzed, and ground to a sudden, permanent halt.
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Outside in the hallway, the sharp, chaotic sound of shouting echoed through the air—followed immediately by the heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor.
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