Chapter 20 - The Empty Escrow—The Kingpin's Last Call
Six months later.
The sun was setting over the crystal-clear waters of the Amalfi Coast in Italy. I sat on the terrace of a private cliffside villa, wearing a white linen dress, sipping a glass of prosecco.
The news playing on the flat-screen TV inside the living room was broadcasting the final sentencing of William Carter. My father had been handed four consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole. The collapse of the Montreal Consortium and the discovery of the Citadel had unraveled the most extensive black-market medical syndicate in modern history.
Arthur Harrison was dead. Julian Rossi was dead. Dr. Thorne was dead.
And Chloe’s remains had been identified in the helicopter wreckage by dental records.
I was officially a ghost.
I opened my laptop on the marble table. I logged into my secure banking portal, viewing the 85 million dollars sitting cleanly in my name. I had spent a fraction of it buying this villa, securing a new identity, and setting up an anonymous charity trust for the victims of the syndicate.
I was safe. I was free. I had won.
My phone rang.
Not my encrypted satellite phone. The old, disposable burner phone I had bought at the Detroit train station six months ago, which I kept locked in a drawer for emergencies.
I stared at it. Nobody in the world had that number.
I slowly picked it up and hit answer.
“Hello?”
A sharp, static-filled hiss echoed through the line, followed by the clanking of metal doors. A prison phone.
“You look good in white, Emily,” my father’s voice rasped through the speaker.
The prosecco glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble tiles. I spun around, scanning the cliffs, the ocean, the road above the villa.
There was nobody there.
“Did you really think I’d let a few concrete walls stop me?” my father chuckled, a dark, terrifying sound that froze the blood in my veins. “You burned my empire. You killed my youngest daughter. You took my money.”
“You’re locked in a supermax facility in Florence, Colorado,” I whispered, forcing my voice steady. “You’re never getting out.”
“I’m not calling from Colorado, Emily,” my father smiled. “I was transferred to a private medical facility this morning. A facility owned by a subsidiary you didn't wipe from the hard drive. I’m walking out the front doors tonight.”
I slammed the laptop shut.
“Enjoy the sunset, my brilliant girl,” my father whispered. “Because tomorrow... I’m coming to collect my inheritance.”
The line went dead.
I stood alone on the beautiful Italian cliffside, the cold wind blowing off the Mediterranean Sea, realizing that the game of survival hadn't ended.
I opened my tactical bag, pulled out the loaded 9mm pistol I had kept since Montreal, and racked the slide.
Let him come.
The next chapters are on the left side of your screen.
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