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Chapter 4 - The House on Tenth Street

Cold air hit Damon’s face like a physical blow. Snow soaked through his expensive suit pants as he scrambled to his feet in the grimy alleyway of Tenth Street.

Behind him, he heard Roman shouting orders to his men. Gunshots echoed off the brick walls, ringing out like sharp cracks in the winter silence.

Damon sprinted down the narrow street, his heart pounding violently. He wasn't a soldier; he was a corporate strategist. But rage and adrenaline fueled his legs. He turned down a dark passage between two crumbling brownstones, searching for the old church Ellie had mentioned.

At the end of the block stood the dilapidated frame of St. Jude’s—a 19th-century stone church with boarded-up stained glass windows and a sagging roof. Beside it was a half-abandoned five-story apartment complex.

Damon burst through the broken front door of the apartment building. The hallway smelled of damp concrete, old copper, and decay.

“Ellie!” Damon yelled, his voice echoing up the stairwell. “Ellie!”

From the third floor, a tiny voice answered, trembling with terror: “Mister? Is that the doll man?”

Damon sprinted up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He reached the third floor and found Ellie standing in an open doorway, holding an old wooden rolling pin like a weapon. When she recognized Damon, her eyes widened.

“You brought Rosie back?” she whispered.

Damon didn't answer. He pushed past her into the small, freezing room.

Lying on a thin mattress on the floor was a woman. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and blue veins showed clearly beneath her temples. Her breath came in shallow, rattling gasps. Beside her lay empty water bottles and a worn medical diary.

This was Clara Miller.

“Damon...” Clara rasped, her eyes fluttering open. She looked at him with a mixture of shock and profound relief. “You... you read the drive?”

“I read it,” Damon said, kneeling beside her. “We have to go. Right now. Roman Pike’s men are right behind me.”

Clara shook her head weakly, grabbing his forearm with a grip that was surprisingly desperate. “I can’t move, Damon. They poisoned my water supply three days ago with a heavy metal neurotoxin. I don't have hours left. But Ellie... you have to protect Ellie.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Damon said grimly.

“Listen to me!” Clara coughed, a terrible, wet sound. “The rag doll... did you find the encryption key inside the audio board?”

Damon pulled out the small flash drive. “I have the drive, but it’s partially locked.”

“The key isn't on the drive,” Clara whispered, reaching up to touch the doll’s brown button eye. “The key is inside the physical eye of that doll. It’s a micro-SD card containing the live access codes to your mother’s off-shore accounts and the medical data proving the Children’s Trust crimes. If you broadcast those files, the entire Blackwell empire crumbles in minutes.”

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Heavy boots pounded on the wooden stairs down the hall.

Roman Pike’s voice echoed through the structure: “Damon! Don't make this messy. Hand over the girl and the drive, and your mother might let you keep your life!”

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