Chapter 4 - The Flight and the Betrayal
Abby ran through the rainy streets of New York, her purple jacket soaked through, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn't stop until she reached the cramped, two-room apartment she shared with her mother, Sarah.
"Mom! Mom, look!" Abby cried, bursting through the door and slamming it behind her.
Sarah, a tired woman in her thirties who worked two jobs to keep a roof over their heads, ran to her daughter, wrapping her in a dry blanket. "Abby! Where have you been? I was out of my mind with worry! Why are you wet?"
"The nice man from the park... Michael," Abby sobbed, pulling the cracked phone from her pocket. "His brother is poisoning him! Look at this!"
Sarah frowned, taking the phone. She played the video Abby had recorded under the bed. As Julian’s cold voice filled the tiny kitchen, discussing neural blocks, fake medical evaluations, and the planned elimination of his brother, Sarah’s face went completely pale.
"Oh my God," Sarah whispered. "Abby, this is... these are the people who own Rain Solutions. They are incredibly powerful. We have to go to the police right now."
But before Sarah could grab her coat, a loud, heavy knock shattered the silence of the apartment.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
"Sarah Simmons! Open the door!" a rough voice shouted from the hallway.
Sarah’s heart dropped. She looked through the peephole. Standing in the dimly lit corridor were two large men in dark suits—Julian’s private security team. They had tracked Abby’s phone using the GPS signal from the estate's Wi-Fi network she had briefly connected to.
"Abby, go," Sarah whispered, her voice trembling. "Out the fire escape. Now!"
"But Mom—"
"Take the phone! And take this!" Sarah grabbed Abby’s backpack, shoving the phone inside alongside the silver robot toy Michael had given her. "Go to the courthouse tomorrow morning. Find the judge. Do not trust anyone else. Go!"
"I'm not leaving you!" Abby cried.
"Go, Abby! I'll buy you time!" Sarah screamed as the wooden apartment door began to splinter under the weight of the men outside.
Sarah pushed Abby out the window onto the metal fire escape. Abby scrambled down the wet iron steps just as the apartment door burst open with a loud crash. She heard her mother scream, followed by the sound of furniture shattering.
"Where is the girl? Where is the phone?" a man roared.
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Abby didn't look back. She hit the alley pavement and ran into the dark, pouring rain. She spent the night hiding inside a hollowed-out plastic playhouse in a dark corner of a public playground, shivering, clutching her backpack to her chest, crying silently for her mother.
She was seven years old, alone in a city of millions, holding the survival of a billionaire in her small, frozen hands.
