Chapter 8
The agents moved them to a safe house that afternoon.
A nondescript apartment in Albany, two hours north of the city. No name on the buzzer. Bars on the windows. A security system that looked like it belonged in a bank.
“Lay low here for the next few days,” Agent Torres told them. “We’ve got men posted outside twenty-four-seven. No one gets in or out without us knowing. We’re putting together a case against Brooks and Voss as we speak. The evidence your sister-in-law collected is... extensive. We’ll need sworn statements from both of you. Probably tomorrow. Try to get some rest tonight.”
He left.
The door clicked shut. The heavy deadbolt slid home.
Sarah stood in the middle of the living room and slowly turned in a circle.
“A safe house,” she said. She almost laughed. “I never thought I’d be the kind of person who needed a safe house.”
Ethan was already exploring. He’d found the television. The stack of DVDs. The pantry stocked with enough snacks to last a month.
“Dad! Mom! Look! They have every Star Wars movie!”
Michael smiled. For the first time in days, it felt genuine.
“Go wild, buddy.”
While Ethan settled in front of the TV, Michael and Sarah sat at the kitchen table. A heavy silence hung between them. Not uncomfortable. Just... full.
Full of three years of things unsaid.
Three years of pain.
Of guilt.
Of regret.
Sarah was the first to break.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was small. “I’m so sorry, Michael. For leaving. For not finding a way to tell you. For making you bury an empty casket thinking it was me. For every night you cried yourself to sleep. For every question Ethan asked that you couldn’t answer. I’m sorry for all of it.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Michael reached across the table and took her hands.
“You did what you thought you had to do,” he said. “You were trying to protect us. To protect Ethan. I can’t be angry at you for that. Not really.”
“But you are angry,” Sarah said. It wasn’t a question.
Michael was quiet for a long moment.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I am. Not because you ran. But because you thought you had to. Because you didn’t trust me enough to let me fight beside you. We were a team, Sarah. Remember? In college, when we had nothing? We promised we’d always face everything together. And then the worst thing that ever happened to us came, and you faced it alone.”
Sarah squeezed his hands.
“I was scared,” she whispered. “I was so scared that if I told you, you’d do something stupid. That you’d confront Daniel. That he’d kill you. And then Ethan would have no one. I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t take his dad too.”
“I know,” Michael said. “I know. And if our positions were reversed... I probably would have done the same thing.”
He stood. Pulled her up. Held her.
“We’re together now,” he said into her hair. “That’s what matters. From here on out, we fight side by side. No more secrets. No more running. No more hiding.”
Sarah nodded against his chest.
“Michael?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me about the three years,” she said. “The parts Ethan didn’t tell me. The hard parts. I need to know. I need to understand what I missed.”
So Michael told her.
He told her about the first six months. How he’d gone to work every day on autopilot, designing buildings he didn’t care about, coming home to a house that felt like a tomb. How he’d nearly lost the firm twice because he couldn’t bring himself to care about profit margins and zoning variances.
He told her about the night Ethan had woken up screaming from a nightmare, and Michael had held him for three hours while he cried, “I want Mommy, I want Mommy,” and there was nothing Michael could do to bring her back.
He told her about the women. Not many. Two, actually. Well-meaning friends of friends who’d tried to fix him with dinner dates and sympathetic smiles. How none of them had ever measured up. How he’d always sent them home early, because waking up next to a stranger in the bed he’d shared with Sarah felt like a betrayal.
He told her about Daniel.
How Daniel had been his rock. His anchor. How Daniel had shown up every Sunday with bagels and orange juice, had coached Ethan’s soccer team, had handled the parts of the business Michael couldn’t face. How every kindness, every favor, every word of support had been a lie. A performance. A way to keep Michael close so Daniel could keep stealing.
Sarah cried through most of it.
But she didn’t stop him.
She needed to hear it.
When he was done, she told him her side.
The shelters. The way the other women had taught her which subway grates put off the most heat in winter. Which soup kitchens had the best bread. Which parks to avoid after dark.
She told him about the jobs she’d worked under fake names. Washing dishes. Cleaning motel rooms. Folding laundry. How she’d been fired twice because her hands shook too bad from the cold and the hunger.
She told him about the days she’d stood across the street from Ethan’s school. Just watching. Too afraid to get close. Too afraid Daniel might see her. How she’d skipped his eighth birthday party because she’d spotted Daniel’s SUV parked out front. How she’d watched through the window as Ethan blew out the candles, and she’d cried so hard a stranger had stopped to ask if she needed help.
“I almost came to you so many times,” she whispered. “Especially that night in January. The one where it was negative ten and the shelter was full. I sat on the steps of the brownstone for two hours. I had my hand on the doorknob. I almost rang the bell. But then I saw Daniel’s car parked at the end of the block. And I remembered what he’d done to Rachel. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk it.”
They talked until the sun came up.
Ethan had fallen asleep on the couch hours earlier, the Star Wars credits long since frozen on the screen.
At six in the morning, there was a knock on the door.
Michael tensed. Reached for the gun Agent Torres had left him—a small, reliable 9mm.
“Who is it?”
“Torres.”
Michael unlocked the door. Slid the chain off.
Agent Torres stood in the hallway. He didn’t look good. His tie was loose. There were dark circles under his eyes. He was holding a tablet in one hand.
“Bad news,” he said, stepping inside. “Daniel Brooks is gone.”
Michael froze.
“Gone?”
“Vanished. Last night. We sent a team to his apartment at four AM with a warrant. Place was empty. Drawers open. Passports gone. Safe left open. He took ten million in cash from the firm’s operating account yesterday afternoon, right before the banks closed. And he took something else.”
Torres tapped the tablet. Handed it to Michael.
It was a video.
Security camera footage from the private school Ethan attended.
Yesterday morning.
Daniel was standing by the front gate. Talking to the headmaster. Laughing.
“He pulled Ethan’s file,” Torres said. “Emergency contacts. Medical information. Address. Everything. He knows where the boy goes to school. Who his friends are. Where his grandmother lives.”
Sarah made a small, terrified sound.
Torres looked at her.
“It gets worse. Councilman Voss was found dead in his townhouse an hour ago. Shot twice in the head. Police are calling it a suicide. But we both know better. Daniel is tying up loose ends. And you three are the biggest loose ends of all.”
May you like
He took the tablet back.
“The safe house is compromised. We’re moving you. Now. New location. Out of state. And we’re going to need those sworn statements today. Because if we don’t have Daniel in custody in the next forty-eight hours... he’s going to find you. And next time? He won’t stop to talk.”
