The Surgeon Heiress's Cold-Blooded Revenge

The interrogation room at the 19th Precinct smelled like stale coffee and despair. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, a headache waiting to happen.

She sat at the metal table. Her hands were cuffed to the bar running along the bottom.

Detective Miller slammed a folder onto the table. He was a thick man with a neck that spilled over his collar.

"Destruction of property. Assault. Reckless endangerment. Trespassing." He ticked them off on his fingers. "You're looking at five to ten, Miss Holden."

"Mullen," she said. Her throat was dry. "My name is Edythe Mullen."

"Your father says you're having a psychotic break. He's got a doctor waiting to sign the 5150 hold. Involuntary psychiatric commitment."

Her stomach dropped. The asylum. That was Arthur's plan B. If he couldn't harvest her, he'd lock her away where no one could hear her scream.

"I want a lawyer," she said.

"You can't afford a lawyer," Miller sneered. "And your daddy isn't paying for one."

Through the one-way mirror, she knew Arthur was out there. Probably handing a thick envelope to the precinct captain.

The door opened. But it wasn't Arthur.

It was the Captain. He looked pale. He looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon.

"Uncuff her," the Captain said.

Miller blinked. "What? She's a suspect in a major-"

"I said uncuff her!" the Captain barked. "Now!"

Behind the Captain, a phalanx of suits walked in. Six of them. They carried briefcases that cost more than Miller's annual salary. They filled the small room, sucking the air out of it.

Then Cedric Mullen walked in.

He was wearing a black cashmere coat with the collar turned up. He didn't look at the police. He didn't look at the room. He looked at her.

He looked at her like she was a problem on a balance sheet that needed to be zeroed out.

"Mr. Mullen," Arthur's voice came from the hallway. He sounded breathless. "Cedric! What are you doing here? This is a family matter."

Arthur tried to push past the lawyers.

Harrison stepped in front of him. Harrison wasn't big, but he stood like a wall. "Mr. Bailey. Please step back."

Cedric walked to the table. He looked at the cuffs. Then he looked at Miller.

Miller fumbled for his keys. His hands were shaking. He unlocked her wrists.

She rubbed the red skin. She stood up. Her legs were steady, but only just.

"Why?" she asked.

Cedric didn't answer. He turned and walked out.

She followed him. She didn't have a choice.

In the bullpen, the station had gone quiet. Cops were staring. Arthur was standing by the vending machine, his face a mask of shock.

"Cedric," Arthur stammered. "She's... she's sick. She needs help."

Cedric stopped. He turned slowly to face Arthur.

"She is my wife," Cedric said. His voice was low, vibrating through the room. "She is under my custody."

"But... she's my daughter."

"Not anymore," Cedric said. "Now, she's my liability. And I manage my assets."

He looked at her. "Coming?"

It wasn't a question. It was an order.

She looked at Arthur. He looked small. For the first time in her life, he looked terrified.

She walked past him. She didn't look back.

They walked out into the cold New York night. A black car was waiting. A driver held the door open.

She slid into the leather seat. It was warm. It smelled of cedar and leather.

Cedric got in beside her. The door closed, sealing them in silence.

"Drive," he said.