She had kept Salomé close for three years, not out of charity, but to keep her silent. She had moved the evidence from place to place, keeping the most valuable parts—the key to the stolen life—hidden in plain sight.
The Race Against the Clock
Colonel Bernard didn’t waste another second. He grabbed his radio.
“Get the Governor on the line. Now! And get a team to the Northside Storage Facility. Lock down Henderson’s residence. I want a full forensic sweep of Martha Vance’s office.”
He turned to the guards. “Take Mrs. Vance into custody. High security. No phone calls.”
As Martha was led away, screaming obscenities that shattered the image of the quiet civil servant, the room shifted again. The heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the execution chamber evaporated, replaced by a frantic, desperate hope.
Julien was still on his knees, his forehead resting against the cool metal of the table. “Five years,” he choked out. “Five years of they calling me a monster.”
Salomé walked over to him. She didn’t cry. She didn’t tremble. She simply placed her small hand on his head. “I knew, Papa. I just had to wait for the right place to tell.”
The Aftermath
The sun began to rise over the prison walls, casting long, golden fingers of light through the high, barred windows. It was 8:00 AM. The time Julien Morel was scheduled to be strapped to a gurney and injected with a lethal cocktail of chemicals.
