CHAPTER 2 THEY DIDN'T WANT THE MAN... THEY WANTED THE DOLL.
The pounding on my apartment door grew louder.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Open the door, Ms. Carter! Police!"
I froze.
Real police usually announced themselves once.
These men sounded desperate.
I quietly pulled Sophie behind me and whispered, "Don't make a sound."
Through the peephole I saw two men in dark jackets. They wore police badges, but something felt wrong. One kept glancing nervously down the hallway while the other held his hand inside his coat as if gripping a weapon.
Then I noticed something impossible.
Their patrol car outside had no license plate.
My stomach tightened.
I stepped away from the door without answering.
Seconds later my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
I hesitated before answering.
A weak voice whispered,
"Don't open it..."
Alexander.
His breathing sounded ragged.
"They're not police."
The call crackled.
"They work for Camila."
My blood turned cold.
"They tracked the package... They're looking for the doll..."
The line suddenly filled with static.
Then another voice spoke.
A woman's voice.
Cold.
Calm.
Almost amused.
"Alexander, you've been a very bad husband."
The call ended.
The men outside immediately stopped pretending.
One kicked the apartment door so hard the hinges screamed.
Sophie buried her face against my shoulder.
"They're breaking in, Mommy..."
I grabbed my daughter with one arm, the USB with the other, and rushed toward the fire escape.
The apartment door exploded inward just as we climbed through the bedroom window.
Behind me I heard one of the men shout,
"Forget the woman!"
"Find the doll!"
Not the USB.
Not Alexander.
The doll.
As rain poured over Queens, Sophie suddenly looked at me with frightened eyes.
"Mommy..."
She reached into the doll's ripped stomach again.
"There was another thing inside."
She pulled out something no bigger than a marble.
A tiny black microchip.
Thirty minutes later we hid inside an all-night diner.
The waitress quietly brought Sophie hot chocolate.
I inserted the microchip into my laptop using an adapter borrowed from a college student sitting nearby.
The screen flashed.
A hidden folder appeared.
Thousands of files.
Bank transfers.
Private security contracts.
Medical reports.
Death certificates.
Then one folder opened automatically.
PROJECT PHOENIX
The first video began playing.
Rows of frightened people sat inside underground cells.
One face made me spill my coffee.
Alexander wasn't the only prisoner.
There were dozens.
Rich businessmen.
Politicians.
Judges.
Every single one had officially disappeared over the last six years.
Then the camera turned.
Standing calmly in front of them...
Smiling...
Was Camila Whitmore.
Except the woman in the video wasn't called Camila.
A subtitle appeared beneath her face.
Subject Zero: Lucy Hernandez
The same fake name from the driver's license.
Suddenly every light inside the diner went out.
Darkness.
Outside...
May you like
Black SUVs slowly surrounded the building.
And someone locked the front door from the outside.
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