Chapter 5 - HELEN'S DIARY
They arrived at a highly secure, off-the-books penthouse in downtown Chicago just before dawn. The property was registered under a dummy corporation that even Whitmore Enterprises' accountants didn't know about. Marcus and three surviving members of his team had successfully extracted and rendezvoused with them, locking down the entire floor with military-grade security.
The girls, exhausted from the adrenaline and the travel, finally fell asleep in a massive, plush king-sized bed. Daniel sat in the adjacent living room, staring out at the Chicago skyline, nursing a cup of black coffee that tasted like ash.
At 9:00 AM, a knock at the fortified door signaled the arrival of Elias Vance, Marcus’s brother and one of the most ruthless private investigators in the country. Elias walked in carrying a battered, water-damaged leather briefcase.
"I tracked the breadcrumbs," Elias said, dropping the briefcase onto the glass coffee table. "It wasn't easy. Helen Rostova went totally off the grid three years ago. Changed her name, paid in cash, moved constantly. But she made one mistake. She kept renting safe deposit boxes in small-town banks."
Daniel leaned forward, his heart pounding. "Is she alive?"
Elias grimaced. "I don't know, Daniel. The trail goes completely cold two weeks ago in a motel outside of Gary, Indiana. The room was tossed. Blood on the carpet. But before whoever took her got to her, she managed to mail this briefcase to a PO Box she had set up in a fake name. My contacts at the post office flagged the facial recognition parameters we set."
Daniel opened the briefcase. Inside were birth certificates, medical records, and a thick, handwritten diary.
He opened the diary. The handwriting was frantic, rushed.
August 14th.
Claire is gone. They say it was a neurological collapse, but I know the truth. Margaret found out about the surrogacy. She confronted Claire at the clinic. I heard her say that no 'tainted' blood would ever inherit the Whitmore legacy. A week later, Claire’s rapid decline started. They switched her medication. I managed to steal a vial before I ran. It wasn't medicine. It was thallium. A slow-acting heavy metal poison.
Daniel stopped reading. The air left his lungs. He felt physically sick. Thallium. A poison that mimicked a degenerative neurological disease, completely untraceable unless a specific toxicology screen was ordered. His mother had slowly, systematically poisoned the woman he loved to maintain control over the family lineage.
He forced himself to keep reading.
I gave birth to the twins in a rural clinic. I named them Ivy and Skye. Claire chose the names before she died. For three years, I’ve kept them hidden. But Margaret's people are getting closer. I'm out of money. I have to get them to Daniel. He's the only one with the resources to protect them. I've baked Claire's medallion into a hard roll—the only thing I know Margaret's goons won't bother checking if they search the girls. If I don't make it, I pray they find their way to his door.
Helen had sacrificed everything, potentially her own life, to keep his daughters safe. She was a hero, hunted by a monster.
May you like
Daniel carefully closed the diary. He looked up at Elias and Marcus. The grief that had paralyzed him for two years was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating, terrifying resolve.
"Elias. I want you to find the clinic doctor who signed off on Claire's death. Break his legs if you have to, but get his confession on tape," Daniel ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Marcus, contact the FBI Director. We play golf every spring. Tell him I have a federal racketeering and attempted murder case being served on a silver platter. We are going to war."
