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“My father died,” Ellie said quietly, her small fingers tightening around the faded fabric of the doll’s waist. “Before I was born. My mother says he was a hero, but heroes don’t leave money for bread.” / Chapter 3 / 8

Chapter 3 - The Traitor in the Front Seat

The interior of the Maybach became suffocating. The hum of the engine, the hiss of tires on wet snow, the quiet tick of the dashboard clock—everything felt amplified.

“You knew,” Damon whispered, his eyes locked onto Roman in the mirror.

Roman didn't flinch. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from his suit jacket, revealing a sleek, silenced 9mm pistol pointed directly between the seats at Damon’s chest.

“I was hoping the kid wouldn't find you, Damon,” Roman said quietly, his voice lacking any of the warmth or loyalty he had displayed for two decades. “I was supposed to intercept her before she reached Fifth Avenue. But the little brat was clever. She dodged my men in the subway.”

“You killed my father?” Damon demanded, his fists clenching around the ruined rag doll.

“Killed him?” Roman chuckled softly, a cold, dry sound. “Arthur isn't dead, Damon. He’s living in a private compound in Saint-Barthélemy, enjoying the three billion dollars we routed through the Children’s Trust. The helicopter crash was just his retirement party. Your mother planned the whole thing.”

Damon felt as if the floor of his reality had collapsed beneath him. His entire legacy—his pride, his work ethic, the empire he thought he had built through relentless late-night deal-making—was nothing more than a front for a horrific criminal syndicate managed by his own family.

“And what about the girl’s mother?” Damon asked, buying time as his eyes darted toward the car’s emergency door release. “Clara Miller?”

“Clara was a brilliant chemist who developed a high-value neural stabilization drug,” Roman said coldly. “We needed her research for our military contracts. But she had a conscience. A conscience is a fatal flaw in our business, Damon. You should know that.”

“She’s dying in a basement on Tenth Street,” Damon said.

“She won't be dying for much longer,” Roman replied calmly. “My team is clearing out that tenement right now. By the time we arrive, Clara and the girl will be gone, and you... well, you are going to sign the asset transfer papers at the board meeting today, or you will join your father’s ‘dead’ list.”

Suddenly, the driver’s side window shattered.

A heavy iron pipe slammed into the driver's window from the outside as the car slowed down near a traffic light on Tenth Street. The driver jolted in panic, swerving the heavy Maybach onto the slushy curb.

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Deep inside my banking app, the little green toggle next to the automatic transfer had vanished. For forty-eight months, that button had silently pumped $2,450 out of my dwindling savings account directly into the primary mortgage servicing pool for 442 Oakridge Lane.

Deep inside my banking app, the little green toggle next to the automati...

Ethan went pale—but his mother looked terrified and whispered, “Stop her before she finds out.” That was when I realized my triplets weren’t the only secret the Montgomery family had been hiding.

Ethan went pale—but his mother looked terrified and whispered, “Stop her...

After six years away, I came home and found my mother on her knees, dressed like a maid in the house I had bought for her.

After six years away, I came home and found my mother on her knees, dres...

Damon didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, grabbing Roman’s wrist and slamming it against the center console. The gun discharged with a muffled thump, shattering the front windshield.

Damon kicked the rear door open, grabbed the flash drive and the rag doll, and threw himself out of the car into the freezing snow.

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