C5: Raising a white eyed wolf

Organized chaos.

That was the only way to describe the scene that met Officer Daud Ndengkenkule as he parked his cruiser on the opposite side of the road.

Flashing red, blue, and white lights bathed the night in harsh bursts of color. The emergency responders—police, fire brigade, and ambulance crews—were already hard at work.

Traffic officers were redirecting vehicles, while others worked to cordon off the scene with yellow tape. Paramedics were attending to two accident victims sprawled on gurneys, while firefighters battled to pry open the crushed door of a flipped car, now resting on its roof.

Incandescent lights from the emergency vehicles lit up the rain-slicked street like a war zone. Sirens wailed in the distance, fading as another ambulance took off. Daud stepped out of his vehicle, lit a cigarette, and took a slow drag as he surveyed the wreckage with a sneer.

“Bet it’s another drunk idiot thinking they own the road,’’ the tall, dark and stout African male muttered under his breath. “Rainy roads and ego… always a great combo.” He crossed the street toward the cluster of officers.

“I…I swear I didn’t see her!” a trembling voice cried out.

One of the accident victims—a teen girl—sat propped up against an ambulance. Her arm was in a sling, and a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around her forehead.

She grimaced as she shifted, blinking up at the officer with tearful, swollen eyes.

“Am I in trouble? Are they… are they okay?” she asked, voice quivering. The officer glanced around.

One paramedic zipped up a body bag. Another gurney disappeared into the back of an ambulance, the victim bloodied and hooked to an IV. Firefighters were still working the Jaws of Life against the flipped car.

“Let’s focus on getting you to the hospital,” the officer said gently, nodding to the paramedic beside him.

“I swear it wasn’t my fault…” the teen whispered again, just as the ambulance doors shut.

Daud stepped closer. “Thomas, what’s the deal?”

Officer Thomas, a lean man flipping through a small notebook, didn’t look up.

“Cap wants you on this one. Says it’s your ‘hot cake.’”

Daud narrowed his eyes.“Meaning?”

Thomas smirked. “One name-Villacorta.”

Daud stiffened. “Again?”

He’d been the first responder to the earlier chaos at the Villacorta building. He’d barely finished that report. Now this?

“Are the cases related?”

Thomas shrugged. “Who knows. But witnesses said she—boss lady—was weaving in and out of traffic like a bat out of hell. Surveillance footage backs it up.’’

He slapped the notebook against Daud’s chest with a crooked smile. “Your hot cake, buddy.”

Daud caught the notebook with a curse under his breath.

He knew exactly what that smirk meant. Nobody wanted to handle the rich.

They were entitled. Difficult. Always above the law.

Worse, their higher-ups were already breathing down their necks, whispering orders: “Close this fast.”

A landmine. That’s what this was.

One false move and he’d be out of a job-or worse, a scapegoat.

“Think she’s drunk?” he asked quietly.

Thomas shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” Just then, the firefighters managed to pry open the car door with a loud crack.

Metal groaned. Glass fell like ice.

Daud’s cigarette dropped to the pavement, forgotten.

<><><><><>

Phoebe came to, just as she was carefully laid on the gurney. She grimaced, moaning in pain, her lips mumbling incoherently.

“Ma’am, can you hear me?” one of the paramedics asked. “You’ve been in a car accident. We’re transferring you to the hospital.”

Phoebe groaned, trying to sit up despite the pain.

The medics quickly strapped her down to prevent further injury as they wheeled the gurney into the ambulance.

HOSPITAL, BIANCA’S ICU WARD…

Brisk footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Gael, who had been slouched on a bench outside the ICU, looked up as Kimberley hurried toward him. She had changed into clean clothes, though her face was still drawn with fatigue and concern.

“Sir, it’s the police,” she said quietly, handing him a phone. “Ms. Roux has been in a car accident.”

“What?” Gael shot up, stunned. “The ambulance is en route. It happened just a couple of blocks from here.” Gael slumped back in his seat, his face draining of color.

Guilt carved into his expression like a chisel to stone. He remembered the look in Phoebe’s eyes when she had stormed out of the cafeteria earlier—broken, betrayed, destroyed.

He hadn’t expected the next time he’d hear about her to be like this. He let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand through his hair before covering his face.

When it rains, it pours.

“How is she?” he finally asked, voice low, tinged with guilt.

Kimberley’s lips twisted with disdain. “She’ll live,” she replied. “Unfortunately, the same can’t be said about her victims.”

Gael’s head snapped up. “What did you say?” Kimberley bowed her head. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, sir. But with everything going on—with your son fighting for life—I think Ms. Roux’s impulsiveness is… childish. If she had just gone home like you asked her to… now her recklessness has cost two people their lives.”

HOURS LATEr…

When Phoebe finally opened her eyes, she was greeted by the sterile white ceiling and the insistent beep of machines.

The pungent scent of antiseptic filled her nose. Her entire body throbbed as if she’d been rolled down a steep hill. Everything hurt.

Memories of the accident came in broken flashes—rain, red light, headlights, metal, screams.

The door creaked open.

She tried to turn toward the sound, but with her neck in a brace and her limbs tightly bandaged, it was impossible.

“Gael?” she called, her voice hoarse. “Gael?” No answer.

The unmistakable click of heels neared her bed.

“Nurse?” she asked weakly. “Could you… could you call my husband?”

“Ms. Roux.” Kimberley’s cold, unmistakable voice filled the room.

Phoebe’s face twisted in disgust. “You,” she spat, her voice cracking with venom. “Where’s Gael? Where is my husband?”

Kimberley stepped closer, casting a dispassionate glance at the broken woman on the bed.

“What do you think? He’s out cleaning up the mess you made.”

“Get Gael in here,” Phoebe growled. Kimberley exhaled slowly, almost bored. “Phoebe… two people are dead because of you. Don’t you even care?”

“Get. Out. And bring me Gael!” Phoebe snapped, her voice breaking.

Kimberley offered a cruel smile. “You know… the moment Bianca gave him a son, you already lost him— and with this erratic behavior of yours? You might as well wrap him in a bow and hand-deliver him to Bianca.”

Phoebe’s eyes blazed with fury.

If she hadn’t been restrained, she would’ve lunged from the bed and wrung the woman’s neck with her bare hands.

She stared at the woman before her, struggling to reconcile the image of the once-docile, subservient secretary with the cold, contemptuous figure now standing tall and smug.

When had she changed? When had she grown this brazen?

For ten years, though they had never been close, they had maintained a cordial relationship. Phoebe had always made an effort to be kind—not just to Kimberley, but to all of her husband’s employees.

She recalled how, years back, she had launched a charity foundation aimed at helping underprivileged children from rural areas.

Kimberley came from one such area—a remote fishing village, if Phoebe remembered correctly. In fact, over fifty percent of the foundation’s funds had been directed there.

Many youths from that village had benefitted from the initiative—access to scholarships, vocational training, clean water, food programs.

Phoebe had been proud of that work. She had thought she was doing something good.

But now…

Now, she could see the twisted irony staring her in the face. Then, suddenly, a realization struck her like a slap.

“That bitch…” she whispered, her voice trembling with fury. “It’s all you.”

Kimberley’s brow arched, but she said nothing.

“Bianca Jones.” Phoebe’s voice rose. “Kimberley Jones.” Her breath caught in her throat. How had she not seen it before?

When Gael had mentioned the name Bianca, she’d been too consumed by rage to process it.

But now… Now, she remembered clearly. A few months ago, Kimberley had brought her a list of graduating students from a local college, gushing about her brilliant niece. “She’s smart, driven—such a good girl. Top of her class.”

The memory was sharp. Clear. Unforgiving.

Phoebe laughed bitterly, her eyes darkening as she fixed her glare on Kimberley. “I didn’t know I was raising a white-eyed wolf.”

Kimberley smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only cold satisfaction.