I was washing the car when my ten-year-old son screamed from somewhere inside the house.

I left Leo at the cabin with the doors deadbolted, food for three days, and a burner phone. “If I’m not back by morning, you call 911 and tell them who you are,” I instructed him, my heart breaking at the fear in his eyes.

I hiked the last three miles to the compound through waist-deep snow, moving like a ghost through the dense pine forest. The compound emerged from the blizzard like a concrete monolith—twelve-foot walls topped with razor wire, camera arrays scanning the perimeter.

I bypassed the outer fence using the blind spot I found in the blueprints. The security keypad at the service entrance flashed red. I pulled off my glove, my fingers freezing instantly, and punched in the override code from the USB drive.

Green light. The heavy steel door clicked open.

I slipped inside, finding myself in a subterranean utility corridor. The air was warm and smelled of industrial cleaner. I moved silently, my grandfather’s M1911 drawn and ready.

I navigated the labyrinth of hallways, heading for the central command suite. I passed server rooms housing massive databanks—the nerve center of her financial empire.

Finally, I reached a set of double glass doors overlooking a cavernous, ultra-modern living room. A fire roared in a massive stone hearth.

And there she was.

Elena. She looked exactly as she had the day she "died." Her dark hair fell perfectly over her shoulders; she wore a tailored white cashmere sweater. She was sipping wine, looking at a tablet. Sitting across from her, his arm in a sling from our encounter, was Richard.

“The boy should be here by now,” Richard grumbled. “The ambush failed. Mark is smarter than you gave him credit for.”

“Mark is an idiot,” Elena replied, her voice echoing off the glass. “He’s running scared. The police think he’s a kidnapper. It’s only a matter of time before they corner him, and I scoop Leo up from child services. We hold the cards, Father.”