Chapter 9 - THE SAFE HOUSE
Arthur moved my father and me to a secured townhouse owned by Sterling Capital.
I disliked the guards, cameras, and locked elevators.
But my injuries made resistance impractical.
My knee required surgery.
My wrist remained immobilized.
The welts across my back made sleep difficult.
Every time the building settled, I heard the cane again.
A trauma counselor named Dr. Simone Blake visited daily.
I told her I did not need therapy.
She asked whether I had slept more than two consecutive hours.
I had not.
She asked whether I blamed myself.
I said no.
Then I listed all the moments when I should have known.
She waited until I heard myself.
“Knowing afterward is not the same as choosing then,” she said.
My father attended one session.
He apologized for making love feel conditional when I married Matthew.
“I thought refusing to bless the marriage would protect you.”
“It made returning feel like admitting you were right.”
“I was more interested in being right than remaining reachable.”
Neither of us cried.
The truth did not need tears to matter.
That evening, Arthur discovered a tracker beneath my wheelchair.
It had been attached during transport from the hospital.
Only medical staff, security officers, and one visitor had been near it.
The visitor was Lauren’s attorney.
He claimed someone must have planted the tracker before he arrived.
Security footage showed him bending near the chair.
He was detained.
His phone contained directions to the safe house.
Matthew had paid him.
We moved again before midnight.
During the convoy, a delivery truck struck the rear security vehicle.
Another car attempted to block us inside the tunnel.
Arthur forced our SUV through the gap.
The attackers fled.
Police recovered one abandoned car.
Inside were zip ties, sedatives, and a printed route to a private airfield.
Matthew planned to take me.
Alive.
At least initially.
A burner phone rang inside the glove compartment.
Detective Ortiz answered.
Matthew’s voice came through.
“Clare.”
“I know you’re listening.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
My father reached for the phone.
I stopped him.
“You already did.”
Matthew inhaled slowly.
“Your father is destroying everything.”
“You destroyed it when you used the company as your wallet.”
“I built NexusCore.”
“You built your title.”
“I built the company.”
“You could not even build the first investor deck.”
Silence.
Then his voice became soft.
“Come to me, and I will return the files.”
“What files?”
“The originals proving who owns the company.”
He believed I still did not know.
I looked at Rebecca.
She nodded.
We had enough to trace the call.
“Where are you?”
Matthew laughed.
“Ask your father about Harbor House.”
May you like
Richard’s face changed.
Harbor House was the abandoned waterfront mansion where my mother died.
