Chapter 5
In the federal detention center, Celeste Langford sat on her cot. She wasn't wearing her sapphire gown or her pearls. She was in a grey jumpsuit, yet she still sat with the posture of a queen.
The door to the visiting room opened. Her attorney, a man named Marcus Thorne, walked in. He looked nervous.
"Is it done?" Celeste asked, not looking up.
"The team is in position in Maine," Thorne whispered. "And we have eyes on Everett at the estate. He found the room, Celeste. Just like you feared."
Celeste finally looked up. Her eyes were cold, void of any maternal warmth. "Jonathan was always a sentimental fool. He thought a hidden room and a video would be enough to stop me. He never understood that power isn't about what you have—it's about what you’re willing to destroy."
"If Everett releases that video... the murder charges... Celeste, we can't fight that."
"He won't release it," Celeste said calmly. "Because Everett loves that girl and that baby more than he loves the truth. By the time he gets back to Maine, he will understand the price of his curiosity."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a hiss. "Did you contact our friend in the DA’s office?"
"Yes," Thorne said. "The evidence from the first arrest is being 'misplaced' as we speak. If we can neutralize the video in the vault, you'll be out of here on a technicality within the month."
Celeste smiled. It was a terrifying, beautiful expression. "Good. I want to be home in time for Bennett's first birthday. I have a gift I’ve been waiting to give him."
Chapter 6: The Race Against the Dark
Inside the vault, Everett’s phone pinged.
He saw the message forwarded from Maren. His blood turned to ice.
He didn't waste time. He grabbed a portable hard drive and began a high-speed dump of the server's data.
40%... 60%... 80%...
The screen suddenly flickered. A new window popped up. A remote override.
Someone was trying to wipe the server from the outside.
"No, you don't," Everett growled. He pulled a physical bypass switch his grandfather had built into the rack—a manual kill-cord that cut the room off from the external internet.
The download finished.
He shoved the hard drive into his pocket and grabbed the physical folders on his father’s "accident." He ran back up the stairs, his heart thundering.
As he reached the library, he smelled it.
Smoke.
They hadn't waited for him to leave.
Someone had tossed an incendiary device through the library window. The dry wood of the empty shelves was catching fast. The grand Langford House, the symbol of his family’s legacy, was finally burning.
Everett ran through the flames, shielding his face with his jacket. He burst through the front doors, gasping for the cold night air.
Two men in dark tactical gear were standing near his car. One held a canister of gasoline; the other held a suppressed handgun.
"The drive, Mr. Langford," the man with the gun said. "Hand it over, and your wife stays safe."
Everett looked at them. He wasn't the same man he had been two months ago. He was a father whose son had nearly frozen to death because of these people.
"You think I came here alone?" Everett asked, his voice low and dangerous.
The gunman frowned. "We've been watching. You’re alone."
"I'm a security expert," Everett said. "I don't go anywhere without a 'Dead Man’s Switch.' The moment my heart rate spiked three minutes ago, the data in that vault was automatically uploaded to three different news agencies and the FBI's main server."
It was a lie—the upload had been blocked by his own kill-cord—but he said it with such absolute conviction that the gunman hesitated.
In that split second of hesitation, a siren wailed in the distance. Not the police, but the fire department, alerted by the house’s automated smoke sensors.
"Check the phone!" the second man yelled.
But Everett didn't wait. He dived behind his car, pulled his own legal firearm from the glove box—the one he had started carrying the day Maren was locked in the linen room—and fired a shot into the air.
"Next one goes in your chest!" he roared.
The two men, realizing the situation had spiraled out of control and the fire was drawing too much attention, retreated into the shadows of the woods.
Everett didn't chase them. He jumped into his car, tires screaming as he tore out of the driveway. He called Maren.
"Maren! Are you okay?"
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"The police are here, Everett! I'm in the safe room. They’re searching the woods. Where are you?"
"I'm coming home," he said, tears of rage and relief stinging his eyes. "And Maren? I found it. I found all of it."
