Chapter 8 - The Crack in the Foundation
I didn't scream. I didn't wake Hailey.
Instead, I grabbed my cell phone, backed into the bathroom, locked the door, and dialed Detective Vance’s direct line with fingers that refused to steady.
She answered on the second ring.
“Paige? It’s midnight. Is everything okay?”
“Someone was at the window,” I whispered, my voice shaking so badly I could barely form the words. “They slid a note under the door. A threat.”
“Stay in the bathroom. Do not open the door for anyone except me or uniformed officers,” Vance commanded, her voice snapping into absolute tactical command. “I’m five minutes away. I’m dispatching an immediate perimeter sweep right now.”
Four minutes later, heavy boots thudded against the pavement outside our motel room, followed by the familiar, authoritative knock of Detective Vance identifying herself.
I unlocked the door and let her in.
She took the folded piece of paper from my hand, slipped it into a plastic evidence bag, and immediately swept the room, checking the exterior windows and the parking lot surveillance cameras.
“Forensics will lift prints and DNA off the paper, but whoever left this knew our location,” Vance said, her face grim. “Which means there’s a leak within the local precinct or the county jail system.”
“Miriam,” I said, the realization hitting me with cold certainty. “Even locked in a federal holding cell, she has people. Lawyers, fixers, corrupt associates who haven't been rounded up yet.”
“She’s thrashing because she knows she’s cornered,” Vance replied, pacing across the carpet. “Federal prosecutors froze all of her offshore assets this afternoon. Her estate is being seized, her house is being foreclosed on by the city, and her legacy is being dismantled piece by piece. This note wasn't a warning of future power—it was a dying gasp of desperation.”
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“I don't care about her desperation,” I said, looking toward the bedroom door where Hailey was sleeping. “I care about keeping my daughter safe.”
“And she is safe,” Vance said, placing her hands firmly on my shoulders. “Starting tonight, we’re moving you to a classified safe house with a 24/7 federal marshal detail. No more motels. No more hiding in the shadows.”
