Continue the journey with the characters in Chapter Two and discover what happens next.

-6

The state attorney general's safehouse was located inside an unmarked, heavily fortified concrete building tucked away in the industrial district near the municipal harbor. There were no outward signs, no security plaques, and no windows facing the street—only a reinforced steel sally port that closed behind Detective Miller’s sedan with a heavy, hydraulic thud.

As we stepped out of the car into the stark, fluorescent-lit garage, a tall woman in a crisp gray federal prosecutor’s suit stepped forward, holding a secure tablet.

"Detective Miller? And you must be Jonathan Miller," she said, her voice sharp, professional, and entirely lacking the corporate polish that had betrayed nearly everyone else I had trusted over the past week. "I'm Special Prosecutor Evelyn Vance—no relation to Julian, before you ask. My office has been reviewing the encrypted data dump your housekeeper Maria transmitted to our secure drop twenty minutes ago."

"Maria made it out?" I asked, a wave of immense relief washing over me.

"She's currently debriefing with tactical units," Evelyn replied briskly, gesturing for us to follow her down a sterile white corridor toward a secure briefing room. "She's a former MI6 cyber-intelligence operative who went deep undercover inside your estate two years ago when she suspected your father was tied to the St. Helena trafficking ring. She was the one who intercepted the hospital paperwork when your son was born."

I cradled the baby closer as we entered the briefing room. A middle-aged man with kind eyes and a federal judge’s robes draped over the back of an ergonomic chair sat at the center table, reviewing a thick stack of medical manifests.

"Judge Henderson," Evelyn introduced him, "this is Jonathan Miller. And the infant is the primary biological evidence we need to unseal the 1994 St. Helena grand jury indictments."

Judge Henderson looked up, his gaze softening as he saw the tiny baby sleeping peacefully in my arms. He stood up, walking over to inspect the hospital bracelet still resting on the infant's wrist.

"St. Helena Private Hospital... Baby Miller," the judge murmured, shaking his head slowly. "The scale of this conspiracy is staggering. For decades, they operated a clandestine maternity ward specifically designed to harvest, swap, and redistribute infants from wealthy family trusts to fuel corporate shell corporations."

"And Julian Vance is sitting at the apex of it all," I said, setting the baby down gently on a cushioned bassinet that the prosecutor's team had thoughtfully prepared. He let out a soft sigh, stretching his tiny legs. "He controls the board of St. Helena, he holds the mortgage on my estate, and right now, he's broadcasting to the world that I'm a fugitive murderer."

"We can counter the public narrative," Evelyn said, tapping her tablet to display a live news broadcast on the wall-mounted monitor.

The screen flashed with a breaking news banner: MILLER ESTATE BLAST: CORPORATE HEIR WANTED FOR QUESTIONING AFTER TRAGIC EXPLOSION.

Footage of our burning mansion played on loop—billowing black smoke, collapsed masonry, and firefighters swarming the ruins. A slick corporate spokesperson for Apex-Vance Holdings—Julian’s primary shell company—was currently addressing the press, wearing a mask of fabricated grief.

"We are deeply saddened by the tragic loss of life at the Miller residence," the spokesperson declared smoothly to a sea of microphones. "Mr. Jonathan Miller's sudden psychological break and violent actions have shocked our community. We are cooperating fully with federal authorities to ensure justice is served and that the surviving infant—currently under our protective custody—is safely recovered."

I froze, my blood running cold. Surviving infant?

"Evelyn," I said, my voice dropping into a tight, panicked whisper. "What did he just say?"

Evelyn’s face drained of color. She tapped furiously on her tablet, pulling up a secondary security feed from the state highway patrol. "Oh, God. The checkpoint near the harbor... our transport van carrying the secondary evidence logs was intercepted three minutes ago by an unmarked tactical unit wearing federal insignia."

The pieces clicked together with horrifying speed.

Julian hadn't just sent guards to the estate; he had anticipated our escape route. He had planted moles inside the state police dispatch network.

Before anyone in the room could react, the overhead fluorescent lights in the safehouse flickered violently, dimmed, and then died completely.

Bzzzzzt.