Damian locked down everything.
His offices.
His vehicles.
His communications.
Even the private jet.
For the next forty-eight hours, only six people knew where Noah and I had been moved.
Damian’s estate outside Philadelphia was less a house than a fortress disguised as one.
Stone walls.
Electronic gates.
Cameras hidden among trees.
Security on every entrance.
Noah was transferred there under private medical supervision after his doctors agreed he was stable.
I argued.
Damian won.
Mostly because Noah looked at the photograph of the house, looked at me, and managed to whisper, “Safe.”
“Traitor,” I told him.
Noah almost smiled.
That smile was worth everything.
His recovery seemed to accelerate once the fear surrounding his memories was acknowledged.
His speech remained slow and difficult, but words came more frequently.
The doctors warned us not to expect miracles.
I didn’t need miracles anymore.
I needed progress.
Damian gave Noah the downstairs library because sunlight filled it in the mornings.
He had rehabilitation equipment delivered within a day.
He hired specialists but made it clear that I could approve or reject every one of them.
He never mentioned cost.
On the second night, I found him in the kitchen at 2:00 a.m.
He was making coffee.
“You own three coffee machines,” I said.
“I dislike all three.”
“That might be the most billionaire thing you’ve ever said.”
He looked at me.
“You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”
I looked down.
One of the housekeepers had left clothes outside my room.
The sweatshirt was enormous.
“I was told these were for me.”
“They were.”
“Then why point it out?”
“Because I didn’t realize Maria took that one.”
I folded my arms.
“Want it back?”
His eyes traveled over me for half a second.
“No.”
Something changed in the air.
I looked away first.
“This is inappropriate.”
“The sweatshirt?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“You’re my boss.”
“Yes.”
“You terrify half of Chicago.”
“Probably more than half.”
“Damian.”
He smiled.
Actually smiled.
It transformed his face.
For a moment he looked younger.
Less like a man carved from expensive stone.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re impossible.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
I reached for the coffee.
He moved it away.
“No.”
“You cannot possibly still be controlling my caffeine.”
“You slept four hours last night.”
“Five.”
“Four and seventeen minutes.”
I stared.
“How do you know that?”
“You turned the hallway light off at 1:43.”
“That is deeply creepy.”
“It’s my hallway.”
I laughed.
Then stopped because he was watching me.
Not as an employee.
As a woman.
My heartbeat changed.
“I should go.”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moved.
Then Vincent entered.
“Sorry.”
He didn’t sound sorry.
Damian stepped back.
“What?”
“We found the leak.”
Every trace of warmth disappeared.
“Who?”
Vincent placed a phone on the counter.
“Elliot Crane.”
I knew Elliot.
Senior vice president of maritime acquisitions.
Fifty-two.
Married.
Two daughters.
He had worked for Damian for eleven years.
“That’s impossible.”
Vincent looked at me.
“We intercepted a transfer from an account connected to Voss.”
Damian’s face showed nothing.
“How much?”
“Four million.”
“For what?”
“Information.”
My stomach tightened.
“What information?”
Vincent looked at me.
“Your travel schedule.”
The kitchen suddenly felt colder.
“My schedule?”
“And Damian’s.”
I stared at the phone.
“He knew when we went to Detroit.”
“Yes.”
“Chicago.”
“Yes.”
“The jet.”
“Yes.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
Vincent continued.
“Crane also accessed employee emergency contact files.”
“Noah.”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
Damian turned away.
I had seen him angry.
This was different.
Elliot Crane had not merely betrayed his company.
He had handed strangers a map to my brother.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
Damian looked at Vincent.
“Bring him in.”
An hour later, Elliot sat in Damian’s study.
No violence.
No threats.
Just Damian on one side of a desk and Elliot on the other.
I wasn’t supposed to be there.
I insisted.
“You sold her family to Voss,” Damian said.
Elliot shook his head.
“I didn’t know what he planned.”
“You gave him Noah Carter’s location.”
“I gave him an emergency contact file.”
“You gave him a helpless twenty-one-year-old man.”
“I needed money.”
Damian leaned back.
“You make seven hundred thousand dollars a year.”
“My investments collapsed.”
“So you sold people.”
“I sold information.”
“That distinction matters only to cowards.”
Elliot’s face reddened.
“You think you’re better than me?”
“No.”
Damian’s voice was quiet.
“I think I know exactly what I am.”
Elliot looked toward me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“Emily—”
“Don’t say my name.”
He lowered his gaze.
Vincent entered.
“Federal agents are outside.”
Elliot’s head snapped up.
“What?”
Damian stood.
“You’re going to tell them everything.”
“You can’t do this.”
“I already did.”
“Damian, wait.”
Elliot panicked.
“Voss will kill me.”
“Then I suggest you cooperate enthusiastically enough to earn protection.”
Two agents entered.
As they escorted Elliot away, he turned.
“Voss has more.”
Damian’s expression sharpened.
“More what?”
“People.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you’re useless.”
“No. Wait.”
Elliot swallowed.
“There’s something planned tomorrow.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“He kept asking about the Carter evidence.”
Damian stepped closer.
“What happens tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I swear.”
“When?”
“Three p.m.”
“Where?”
Elliot shook his head.
“He only called it the exchange.”
The agents took him away.
Vincent immediately began making calls.
I went upstairs to Noah.
He was doing hand exercises with his therapist.
When we were alone, I sat beside him.
“Do you remember Dad’s flash drive?”
Noah frowned.
“The one from the briefcase.”
He nodded.
“Do you know what’s on it?”
His expression changed.
“What?”
Noah pointed toward himself.
“You?”
He nodded.
“You know the password?”
Another nod.
I nearly laughed from relief.
“What is it?”
He struggled.
“Mom…”
“Yes?”
“Song.”
My eyes filled.
Our mother had sung the same song every Christmas Eve.
Dad used to tease her because she always started too high and had to restart.
I knew exactly which song Noah meant.
We opened the drive on an isolated laptop.
The password worked.
Hundreds of files appeared.
Shipping manifests.
Bank records.
Photographs.
Audio recordings.
My father had documented everything.
Then I opened the final video.
Dad appeared on-screen.
Alive.
Sitting in his office.
I stopped breathing.
“If Emily or Noah is watching this,” he said, “then something happened before I could finish what I started.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
Noah began crying beside me.
I grabbed his hand.
Dad continued.
“Adrian Voss is using Great Lakes Maritime to move illegal shipments through American ports. I reported what I found through official channels, but somebody warned him.”
He looked exhausted.
“I contacted one other person because I believe he has enough power to keep this evidence from disappearing.”
Damian entered behind us just as Dad said the name.
“Damian Hamilton.”
Damian froze.
My father continued.
“I never met Hamilton. I sent a partial file anonymously. If he received it, he may not know who sent it.”
Damian whispered, “The Baltimore package.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Six months ago. Anonymous shipping records.”
Dad continued speaking.
“If you work with Hamilton, be careful. I don’t know what kind of man he is. But I know Voss is afraid of him.”
The video ended.
Silence filled the room.
Noah wiped his face.
Damian looked shaken.
“My father chose you,” I whispered.
“He chose the person Voss feared.”
“Maybe that’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
Damian looked at me.
“But I intend to deserve the difference.”
Vincent rushed into the room.
“We found Rebecca.”
“Where?”
“She just walked into the FBI field office.”
My heart jumped.
“And?”
“She’s asking for immunity.”
Damian’s expression hardened.
“For what?”
Vincent looked at me.
“She says she can prove who caused your parents’ crash.”
Then he added the part that changed everything.
“And she says Adrian Voss is coming for the flash drive tonight.”