Chapter 3: The Diagnosis
Chapter 3: The Diagnosis
The safehouse was an off-the-books cabin nestled deep in the Appalachian foothills, bought under a shell corporation years ago. By nightfall, I had a roaring fire going in the stone hearth and had tended to Lily’s wounds with a combat medic's efficiency. The swelling around her eye was severe, blooming into angry shades of purple, and her ribs were heavily bruised, but thankfully, nothing was broken.
Sitting by the fire, swaddled in a heavy wool blanket, she stared at the dancing flames before finally speaking. "It wasn't the first time, Dad. It’s been happening for years. The pushing, the yelling... But today... today he grabbed me. He said he was going to kill me."
"Why?" I asked softly, handing her a steaming mug of chamomile tea, carefully masking the boiling rage in my chest.
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"I found something," she whispered, her hands trembling so much the tea splashed over the rim. "In his private office. I was just looking for a pen. Ledgers, Dad. Richard isn't just in real estate. He’s laundering money. Hundreds of millions of dollars. For people who terrify him, people who speak in whispers over encrypted apps."
I stared into the crackling flames, calculating. Richard was a monster, but I always knew he was a stupid monster. Greed had made him reckless. He had tied himself to the underworld, swimming with sharks he didn't understand. "Rest, sweetheart," I told her, kissing her forehead. "You're safe now. He will never touch you again."
