The Mansion Was Burning But When the Family Left the Disabled Heir to Die, the Maid Risked Everything to Save Him / Chapter 7 / 19

Chapter 7 - The Burner PhoneBy 3:00 PM, they were three hundred miles away.

Evelyn had used the first withdrawal from the trust to hire a private, heavily armored medical transport. They had driven straight out of Greenwich, crossing state lines into Pennsylvania, and checked into a secure, high-rise penthouse in downtown Philadelphia. The building had 24/7 private security, restricted elevator access, and a subterranean parking garage.

It was a fortress. For now.

Noah was resting in the master bedroom, a new, top-of-the-line wheelchair parked beside the king-sized bed. Evelyn stood in the massive living room, looking out over the city skyline, clutching a prepaid burner phone she had bought at a gas station on the way.

She needed help. Money and legal documents wouldn't protect them from Victoria's wrath once the widow opened that decoy box.

Evelyn punched in a phone number she had memorized years ago but had never dared to call. It was a number Daniel Whitmore had slipped into her apron pocket just a week before his plane went down. “If anything happens to me, Evelyn,” Daniel had said, his eyes shadowed with paranoia, “and you think Noah is in danger, call this number. Tell him the architect needs a blueprint.”

The phone rang three times. Then, a click.

"Yeah?" a gruff, gravelly voice answered.

"The architect needs a blueprint," Evelyn said, her heart hammering against her ribs.

There was a long silence on the other end. The background noise of traffic faded, as if the man had stepped into a quiet alley.

"Who is this?" the man demanded, his tone instantly shifting from casual to lethal.

"My name is Evelyn Brooks. I was Daniel's housekeeper."

"I know who you are," the man interrupted. "It's all over the news. Whitmore House burned to the ground. The media is saying it was an electrical failure in the west wing. You and the kid barely made it out."

"It wasn't an electrical failure," Evelyn whispered. "Victoria set the fire. She tried to kill Noah. And she stole the decoy box."

Another heavy pause. "Where are you?"

"Philadelphia. We're at a secure hotel, but I don't know how long we have. If Victoria opens that box and realizes the documents are fake..."

"She already knows," the man cut in. "Victoria isn't stupid. She had her people appraise those documents the second the sun came up. Listen to me very carefully, Evelyn. You are not safe. Not in a high-rise, not with private security. The people Victoria works with eat private security for breakfast."

"Who are you?" Evelyn pleaded.

"My name is Elias. I used to run security for Daniel before Charles forced me out. Did the boy tell you where the real box is?"

"No. He hasn't told me yet."

"Keep it that way," Elias ordered. "If they catch you, it's better you don't know. Pack your things. Don't use the main elevator. Use the service stairs. I have a team en route to your location right now. We'll extract you in twenty minutes."

"Wait, how do you know where we are?" Evelyn asked, a sudden spike of panic piercing her chest. She hadn't told him the address.

"I don't," Elias said, his voice grim. "But Victoria does. She put a GPS tracker in the boy's medical oxygen tank before you left the hospital."

Evelyn spun around, staring in horror at the green metal cylinder sitting next to Noah’s bed through the open doorway.

"Get out of there, Evelyn. Now!"