Chapter 15
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I drove back to the foundation with my doors locked, constantly checking my rearview mirror. The rain had picked up, mirroring the dark, turbulent storm inside my mind. Evan had died trying to save the lives of strangers. He had died a hero, and Julian Cross had spent three years dragging his name through the mud as a careless, fatigued driver.
When I pulled into the underground parking garage of the Hope Foundation building, I noticed a black SUV idling near the elevators. Its windows were heavily tinted.
My instincts screamed at me. I didn't park. I hit the gas, speeding out of the garage and back into the rainy street, my heart pounding in my ears. I drove aimlessly for twenty minutes until I was certain I wasn't being followed, then pulled over in a crowded shopping plaza to catch my breath.
I picked up my phone and dialed Grandma Margaret.
"Claire, where are you?" Margaret answered immediately, her tone sharp with worry.
"I'm safe, Grandma, but David was right. Julian is already making moves. There was a suspicious vehicle waiting at my office," I said, gripping the steering wheel. "Evan hid a flash drive with the real test data. The journal isn't enough to convict Julian; it just proves Evan had suspicions. We need the data."
"Come to the estate immediately," Margaret ordered. "I have already made a phone call. I have hired someone to handle this."
"A private investigator?" I asked.
"Better," Margaret said grimly. "An old friend of your grandfather's recommended him. He is a former federal investigator named Liam Hayes. He specializes in corporate corruption and high-risk extraction. He is waiting for you in the study."
I drove to the estate, the heavy iron gates closing securely behind my car. Denise met me at the front door, looking pale but resolute. She hugged me tightly, silently promising that she would protect Lily with her life while I fought this war.
I walked into the oak-paneled study. A man was standing by the fireplace, studying a painting. He turned around as I entered.
May you like
Liam Hayes was in his late thirties, with sharp, perceptive green eyes, a strong jawline, and a calm, commanding presence that instantly filled the room. He wore a dark, tailored suit, but he moved with the relaxed readiness of a man who was used to violence.
"Mrs. Bennett," Liam said, his voice deep and steady. "Your grandmother has filled me in on the broad strokes. But I need to hear it from you. Everything."
