Chapter 8 - The Night Elena Disappeared
I would burn Chicago before handing my son to Victor Sloane.
But Victor knew that.
Which meant Noah wasn't what he truly wanted.
The trust was.
More precisely, Hannah's evidence.
We created a copy of the memory card.
Then I went to the address.
Marcus covered the perimeter.
Samuel came with me.
The warehouse appeared empty.
Elena sat beneath a light.
Victor stood behind her.
"Preston Hale."
"Victor."
"You grew into your father."
"That's not a compliment."
"It wasn't meant as one."
I held up the memory card.
"Release her."
"The boy."
"No."
Victor smiled.
"Then she dies."
Elena looked at me.
"Don't."
Victor pressed the gun against her temple.
I tossed the card onto the floor.
He stepped forward.
That was the mistake.
Samuel fired.
Chaos exploded.
Elena dropped sideways.
I shot Victor's weapon from his hand.
Marcus's men entered.
Victor escaped through a hidden exit.
Again.
But Elena was safe.
So was Samuel's daughter, found in another room.
Back at the mansion, Elena sat while I cleaned a cut on her cheek.
"You shouldn't have come."
"You shouldn't have left."
"I was trying to protect Noah."
"So was I."
She looked at me.
"That seems to be what everyone says before doing something stupid."
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
She stared.
"What?"
"I forgot I could do that."
Something changed between us.
I touched her cheek.
She didn't move away.
For one dangerous second, I wanted to kiss her.
Then Noah called from the hallway.
"Ellie?"
We separated.
Elena smiled.
"I'm here."
He ran to her.
Watching them together made my chest ache in a different way.
Not grief.
Possibility.
That frightened me more.
Later, Marcus recovered data from Victor's warehouse.
One audio file.
Hannah's voice.
The night she died.
"Victor, leave my son alone."
Then Victor:
"Your son isn't the one I'm interested in."
Hannah:
"Then why?"
Victor laughed.
"Because Preston has no idea what his father left him."
The recording ended.
Marcus looked at me.
"Your father left you something?"
"Everything."
"No. Something Victor couldn't take."
I remembered my father's final instructions.
One sentence.
Never open the red room unless your family is in danger.
I had thought he meant the old wine cellar.
But our original family estate had one room painted red.
It had been sealed since his death.
We drove there before dawn.
The key still fit.
I turned it.
May you like
The door opened.
And someone inside said my name.
