Chapter 7
The air in Damon’s high-rise office turned suffocatingly thin.
"Where is Julian?" I demanded, leaning down, gripping Claire’s shoulders. "Claire, look at me! Where is he?"
"The St. Jude Recovery Institute," Claire choked out, her teeth chattering from sheer adrenaline. "It’s an off-the-grid private psychiatric facility in the Cascade foothills. It’s owned by a shell subsidiary of Pendelton’s law firm. That’s where Damon sends anyone who threatens his control. That’s where he’s planning to send *you* tomorrow morning after the court hearing!"
Owen ripped the flash drive from the terminal port. The screen flashed: `TRANSFER 100% COMPLETE.`
"We have the evidence of the shell companies," Owen said, pocketing the drive. "We have the wire transfers, the fake escrows, the offshore accounts. But Emily... if Damon has Judge Miller and Dr. Harrison in his pocket, a civil judge can still sign that emergency custody order at eight o’clock tomorrow morning before any federal prosecutor even looks at these files."
"Then we don't go to a civil judge," I said, my voice dropping into a chilling register. "We go somewhere Damon cannot control."
"Where?" Owen asked.
"Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock," I said, the plan forming in my mind with crystalline precision. "The Pacific Rim Real Estate Summit at the Bell Harbor Conference Center. Damon is the keynote speaker. The governor is attending. The state attorney general is on the VIP panel. Every major real estate investor, fund manager, and financial reporter on the West Coast will be in that auditorium."
Owen’s eyes widened. "You want to confront him on live television?"
"No," I replied, a cold, deadly smile curling my lips. "I’m not going to confront him. I’m going to destroy him. In front of the entire world."
I looked down at Claire, who was still trembling on the carpet.
"Claire," I said softly.
She looked up, sniffling, wiping her eyes. "Emily, please... I’ll do anything. I’ll testify. I’ll go to prison. Just please don't let him take your baby."
"You want redemption?" I asked. "You want to save your father in Zurich and keep yourself out of a federal penitentiary?"
"Yes," Claire whispered. "God, yes."
"Get up," I commanded. "Take your keys. Go to Damon’s penthouse. He thinks you’re his terrified, obedient little pet. You’re going to act like everything is normal. You tell him that Owen confronted you, that you broke off the engagement, and that you’re fully on board with the Costa Rica exit strategy."
"And then?" Claire asked, swallowing hard.
"And then you get his private tablet," I said. "The one with the biometric authentication that syncs directly to St. Jude’s patient monitoring ledger. We need Julian’s admission records, signed by Dr. Harrison and Pendelton. If we prove Julian was falsely imprisoned, the medical board strips Harrison’s license before sunrise, and Damon’s medical affidavit against me becomes entirely void."
Claire took a deep breath, her hands steadying. For the first time all night, the terror in her eyes was replaced by a fierce, desperate resolve. "I'll do it. He keeps the tablet in the safe in his master closet."
"Go," Owen said, his voice softer now, though still distant. "Be careful, Claire. If he suspects you for a second, he won't hesitate to hurt you."
Claire nodded, stood up, smoothed down her emerald dress, and slipped out the office door into the shadowed hallway.
Owen and I took the freight elevator back down to the garage. The cool night air hit my face, shocking my senses. My daughter kicked hard beneath my ribs, a sharp, rhythmic flutter. I pressed my hand against my belly.
*Hold on, little girl,* I whispered in my mind. *Mommy is fighting for you.*
Owen opened the passenger door for me. "Where are we going now, Emily? You need to rest. You’ve been on your feet for six hours, and you were dosed with lithium this morning."
"We’re going to the Cascade foothills," I said, buckling my seatbelt.
Owen stopped, his hand on the truck door. "St. Jude’s? Emily, that place is locked down like a maximum-security prison."
"They have an emergency intake entrance," I said, pulling my phone from my coat. "And I still have my father’s personal contacts. My father wasn't just an architect, Owen. Before he died, he was the chief structural engineer who designed the security systems for state mental health facilities in Washington."
I scrolled through my contacts, selecting a name I hadn't dialed in five years: **Marcus Vance.**
Damon’s estranged uncle. The former Chief of Police for King County.
I tapped the screen.
The phone rang three times before a gravelly, authoritative voice answered.
*"Emily? It’s two in the morning. Is Damon alright?"*
"Marcus," I said, my voice steady and unwavering. "Damon didn't let Julian die in Europe. Julian is alive. And Damon has him locked inside St. Jude’s."
A heavy, suffocating silence hung on the line.
May you like
*"Meet me at the junction off Route 2 in forty minutes,"* Marcus Vance growled, the fury in his voice shaking the speaker. *"Bring whatever evidence you have. I'm bringing four state troopers."*
***
