Chapter 7
I didn't sleep at all that night.
I sat in the penthouse's great room, watching the news coverage roll in. Every channel was running the story. Every pundit was dissecting Nathan's life, his lies, his fraud.
“Self-made billionaire exposed as bigamist and fraud.”
“Senator Carter's sister tells all: 'He tried to frame me.'”
“Two wives, two children, two lives: the double world of Nathan Brooks.”
“Hundreds of millions missing: investors left holding the bag.”
By four in the morning, the FBI had issued an arrest warrant.
By five, they'd raided Nathan's penthouse.
But he was gone.
The apartment was empty. His clothes were there. His wallet. His phone. But Nathan himself had vanished.
“He slipped the surveillance team around two a.m.,” Marcus said over the phone. His voice was tight, angry at himself. “He went out the service entrance wearing a maintenance uniform. Got into a van parked around the corner. We lost him somewhere in the Bronx.”
“Is Grace okay?” I asked immediately.
“She's fine,” Marcus said. “Still asleep. The safe house is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. No one is getting to her, Em. I promise you that.”
I exhaled, the tension leaving my shoulders just a little.
“Where could he have gone?” I asked.
“William is running every contact he has,” Marcus said. “James is talking to the FBI. We have his passport flagged. His cars are all accounted for. His bank accounts are frozen. He has no money, no resources, nowhere to go. He's running on anger and desperation right now. That makes him dangerous, but it also makes him stupid. He'll make a mistake. And when he does, we'll be there.”
I hung up.
Nathan was on the run.
A desperate man with nothing to lose.
And he'd threatened me.
At seven in the morning, Victoria called.
“Oliver and I are at the safe house,” she said without preamble. “Marcus is here. The kids are fine—they're out riding horses right now, pretending all of this is just a big adventure. But Emily... the FBI just told me Nathan is gone.”
“I know,” I said.
“I'm scared,” she admitted, her voice cracking for the first time. “He knows where my parents live. He knows Oliver's school. He has keys to my house. If he's desperate enough—”
“He won't get to any of us,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “The safe house is unknown. My brothers have people everywhere. The FBI is looking for him. He can't run forever.”
But even as I said the words, I knew they weren't entirely true.
Nathan was smart. Brilliant, actually. That's how he'd built his empire on lies. That's how he'd fooled two women, two powerful families, and the entire business world for seven years. If he didn't want to be found, he could stay hidden for a long time.
At nine, there was a knock at the penthouse door.
Two FBI agents stood outside. Special Agent Carter—ironically, no relation—and Special Agent Torres.
“Mrs. Brooks,” Agent Carter said, flashing his badge. “We need to talk to you about your husband. We have reason to believe he may try to contact you.”
“He already has,” I said, letting them in. “He texted me yesterday. Threatened me. And last night, he was across the street from this building. He made a threat gesture.”
I showed them the texts. I told them about Nathan standing in the doorway.
Agent Torres took notes. Agent Carter's expression grew grimmer with each detail.
“Mrs. Brooks,” he said when I finished. “In cases like this—when a white-collar suspect flees before arrest—they usually do one of two things. They either try to leave the country, or they try to exact revenge on the people they blame for their downfall.”
He looked at me.
“Your husband blames you. Everything that has happened to him—his company collapsing, his reputation destroyed, his pending arrest—he sees it as your fault. Not his. In his mind, you betrayed him by calling your brothers. By going to the press. By telling the truth.”
“So what does that mean?” I asked.
“It means,” Agent Carter said, “that you are in more danger than you realize. We are assigning a protective detail to you. Two agents, twenty-four hours a day. They'll be with you everywhere you go. We're also increasing security at the safe house where your daughter is.”
“My brothers already have security,” I said.
“I know,” Agent Carter said. “And they're very good at what they do. But federal protection is another layer. We have access to databases, to surveillance tools, to resources your brothers may not. We want to work with them, not against them. To keep you and your family safe.”
I nodded.
“Okay,” I said.
They left me their card, their numbers, instructions on what to do if Nathan contacted me again.
After they left, I called James.
“The FBI says I'm Nathan's number one target,” I said.
“I know,” James said. “I just got off the phone with the director. They're assigning the best team they have. But Em... you need to stay out of sight for a while. No more press. No more public appearances. Lay low until they catch him.”
“I can't just hide,” I said. “Grace needs me. The trial—”
“Will handle the trial,” James said. “The lawyers, the testimony, all of it. Your only job right now is to stay safe. For Grace. For all of us.”
He paused.
“Come to the safe house,” he said. “Be with Grace. Be with Victoria and Oliver. Marcus is there. William is flying up this afternoon. We'll all be together. Safe. Protected.”
I thought about it.
The penthouse felt cold without Grace. Too big. Too empty. Every shadow looked like Nathan. Every noise made me jump.
“Okay,” I said. “I'll come.”
An hour later, I was in another armored SUV, windows blacked out, flanked by FBI agents and my brothers' security teams, heading north to Connecticut.
The safe house was a massive stone estate hidden behind iron gates and hundreds of acres of forest. It had been in our family for generations—used for everything from political retreats to hiding relatives from the press.
The gates opened as we approached.
The house came into view—beautiful, imposing, surrounded by gardens and stables and a lake.
Grace saw the car pull up and came running, Marcus right behind her.
“Mommy!” she screamed, throwing her arms around me the moment I stepped out. “You came! We saw horses! And Oliver taught me how to skip stones on the lake! And there's a treehouse! Can we stay forever?”
I held her tight, breathing in her smell—soap and grass and childhood.
“For as long as you want, baby,” I said.
Victoria came out onto the porch, holding two mugs of coffee. Oliver was beside her, holding Crusher the T-Rex—Grace had apparently “let” him have it back for the day.
“Good, you're here,” Victoria said, handing me a mug. “It's better if we're all together. Strength in numbers.”
Over the next two days, the house became a fortress and a command center.
James worked from the library, coordinating with the FBI, the SEC, and his own political team. William set up a war room in the den, his analysts and forensic accountants flying in and out at all hours, going through every record of Nathan's empire, tracking every dollar, every fake contract, every shell company.
Marcus oversaw security—patrols in the woods, cameras everywhere, men on every roof, every gate, every entrance.
Victoria and I took care of the kids. We tried to make things as normal as possible. Horseback riding in the morning. Swimming in the lake in the afternoon. Board games and movies at night.
But the normalcy was a thin veneer.
Every time a car came up the driveway, we tensed. Every time the phone rang, we jumped. Every night, I checked on Grace three or four times, just to be sure she was still there, still breathing, still safe.
On the third night, everything changed.
I was in the kitchen, getting a glass of water, when William came running in. His face was white.
“Em,” he said. “You need to see this.”
He led me to the den. James and Marcus were already there, staring at the computer screen.
On the screen was a video.
A live video.
Nathan was sitting in a cheap motel room, the camera propped up on a table. He looked terrible—unshaven, eyes wild, holding a bottle of whiskey.
The title of the stream: THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CARTERS.
“He's live-streaming,” William said. “Fifteen minutes ago. Already two million viewers.”
I stared at the screen.
Nathan looked directly into the camera.
“Hello, America,” he said, his voice slurred but intense. “You think you know the story? You think I'm the villain? The big bad billionaire who cheated on his wives and stole money? You don't know the half of it.”
He took a long drink from the bottle.
“The Carters set me up. All of this was their plan from the beginning. Senator James Carter—Mr. Honorable himself—he needed a fall guy. Someone to take the blame for his own dirty deals. So he used his own sister. He married her off to me. Let me build an empire using the Carter name. And when it got big enough? When there was enough money to steal? They pulled the rug out from under me.”
He leaned into the camera.
“Emily Carter—don't let her fool you with the innocent teacher act. She knew everything. Every deal. Every dollar. She was the mastermind. She helped me forge those documents. She helped me create those shell companies. And when the heat got too close? She and her brothers framed me. Made me look like the bad guy. Killed two birds with one stone—they got to keep all the money, and they got to destroy the evidence that would have put the great Senator Carter in prison.”
The comments were scrolling by too fast to read.
#CarterConspiracy
#NathanIsInnocent
#EmilyKnew
#SenatorCarterCorrupt
“This is bad,” James whispered. “Really bad. My office is already getting calls. Reporters. Constituents. People are believing him.”
Nathan was still talking.
“I have proof,” he said, holding up a stack of papers. “Real proof. Not the fake forensics the Carters paid for. Emails. Text messages. Bank records. All proving that Emily Carter was my partner. All proving that the Carters are the real criminals here.”
He reached off-camera and pulled something into frame.
My blood ran cold.
It was Grace.
She was asleep, her head on his lap, her hair falling over her face.
Nathan stroked her hair gently.
“See this little girl?” he said, his voice suddenly soft, terrifyingly calm. “This is my daughter. Grace. The only thing in this whole mess that's real. And right now, the Carters have her locked up like a prisoner. They won't let me see her. They're turning her against her own father.”
He looked into the camera again, his eyes burning.
“This ends tonight. I want my daughter back. And I want the Carters to admit the truth. If they don't... if they try to come after me... well. A father has to protect his child. Whatever it takes.”
The stream cut to black.
The room was silent.
Dead silent.
Then Marcus spoke, his voice a growl.
“Check Grace's room. Now.”
He was already running out the door.
I stood frozen, my mind unable to process what I'd just seen.
Nathan had Grace.
But that was impossible. Grace was asleep down the hall. Safe. Protected.
Marcus came back two minutes later. His face was ashen.
“She's gone,” he said.
The words hit me like a bullet.
May you like
Gone.
My daughter was gone.
