Chapter 12 - THE PRISONER TRANSFERRED"Transferred where?" I asked, keeping my voice steady so Elena wouldn't sense the sudden spike of adrenaline in my veins.
"Not to another federal facility," Marcus answered grimly, tapping the screen to pull up a heavily encrypted law enforcement dispatch log. "He was moved into a private medical wing under maximum security custody. Official diagnosis: terminal organ failure. The years of isolation and stress caught up to him. Word is, he has less than six months left."
I stared at the screen, the memories of that glittering, terrifying night in the grand ballroom rushing back like it was yesterday. The sound of cuffs snapping. The look of pure, unadulterated hatred in his eyes as they dragged him away.
"Why are we getting this alert, Marcus?" I asked, looking up. "We set up total anonymity. No one should even know where to send updates about his medical status."
"That's just it," Marcus said, his jaw tightening. "The request didn't come from a federal marshal or a prison warden. It came from a lawyer representing the remaining, hidden remnants of the Moretti loyalists. They're trying a desperate Hail Mary."
"What kind of Hail Mary?"
"They're filing a posthumous or emergency petition to challenge the parental termination," Marcus said slowly. "They claim that because Adrian is dying, he has a right to name a blood heir to whatever fraction of the syndicate's hidden offshore accounts hasn't been seized yet. And they know Elena is the only biological key."
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A cold fury washed over me, instantly replacing any lingering shock. They thought they could reach across an ocean and touch my daughter? They thought a dying monster could claim rights to a child he never even knew existed until the night his world burned?
"Pack the bags, Marcus," I said quietly, handing the tablet back with a look that left no room for argument. "We're going back to Chicago."
