Chapter 3 - The Burner Phone
We drove for three hours straight, deep into the rural mountains where cell service went to die. David pulled up to a dilapidated hunting cabin hidden behind a dense wall of pine trees.
“It belongs to my uncle. He passed away last year. No one knows about it,” David explained, killing the engine.
Inside, it smelled of dust and old wood. I set Mia up on a moth-eaten sofa, wrapping her in a heavy wool blanket. She hadn't spoken a word since we left the house. Her silence was more terrifying than a scream.
David paced the wooden floorboards. “We can’t go to the local cops. The Volkovs own half the judges in the county. Mark knows that. He thinks he’s untouchable right now.”
I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket. “We have to hit him where it hurts. The money.”
“Elena, you can’t turn that on. They can track the GPS signal!”
“I need one minute,” I said, my voice hardening. The panic was receding, leaving behind a cold, calculated maternal rage. I booted up the phone. I opened the photo I had taken of Mark’s hotel confirmation. I zoomed in on the booking code and the corporate email address he had used.
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Then, I opened my banking app, transferred every single dime from our joint savings into a secure offshore trust my late father had set up for me before he died, and turned the phone completely off. I pulled the SIM card out and snapped it in half.
“There,” I said. “He’s broke. But we need a burner laptop and a secure Wi-Fi connection. We are going to ruin him before he can collect a single cent.”
