Chapter 10 - The Ambush at the Medical Clinic
Despite our secure location, we needed to obtain an official, legally admissible CAT scan and neurological evaluation from an independent, board-certified physician to confirm Sarah had suffered no internal cranial bleeding from Julian’s assault. Marcus arranged a private appointment at a specialized imaging clinic in Charlottesville run by a former Navy neurosurgeon who owed us a favor from our service days.
At two o'clock, we escorted Sarah out the back door of the clinic toward my Silverado, flanked by Marcus and Rossi. Just as we reached the gravel parking lot, a black Lincoln Navigator screeched to a halt at the entrance, blocking our exit. Four men in dark suits—private investigators and hired corporate muscle from Julian’s primary security contractor—jumped out of the vehicle, surrounding us with aggressive, synchronized movement.
The lead investigator, a beefy ex-cop named Miller, stepped forward, holding up a manila folder and a digital tablet recording us. "John Sterling! We have an emergency psychiatric conservatorship order signed by a local magistrate! We are legally authorized to take custody of Mrs. Vance and transport her to a private psychiatric facility immediately!"
"Stand down, Miller," Marcus warned, stepping smoothly between the muscle and my daughter, his right hand resting casually near the waistband of his jacket. "That paper isn't worth the ink printed on it, and you know it. You're interfering with a federal witness."
"We're taking her right now, old man," Miller sneered, reaching out to grab Sarah’s arm while two of his goons moved toward me with collapsible batons drawn.
They never reached her. In perfect synchronization, Rossi and I stepped into their path. I grabbed the wrist of the first goon, twisting his arm into a textbook wrist-lock that dropped him screaming into the gravel, while Rossi drove a devastating liver punch into the second man, leaving him gasping for air on his knees.
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Miller reached for a taser on his belt, but before he could clear the holster, I stepped inside his guard, grabbed his collar, and slammed him hard against the hood of his Lincoln Navigator. I leaned in close, pressing my forearm against his throat just enough to immobilize him completely.
"Tell your boss his intimidation tactics don't work on men who shoot back for a living," I whispered into Miller’s ear, taking his tablet and smashing it against the windshield of his truck. "Next time you approach my daughter, I won't use my hands. Now take your trash and get off this mountain."
