Chapter 10 - MY FATHER’S RULE
My father’s first instinct was to send fifty armed men into Southampton.
Detective Ortiz stopped him.
“If you move private security onto that property, Hayes may kill the hostage.”
“He may kill him anyway.”
“That does not give you authority to start a war.”
My father’s voice turned cold.
“You misunderstand me, Detective.”
“I am not asking for authority.”
I stepped between them.
“Enough.”
Both turned toward me.
Matthew had spent years surrounding himself with people who fought for control.
I would not allow the people protecting me to make the same mistake.
“He asked for the trust documents.”
Ortiz nodded.
“He believes they are the only evidence proving NexusCore does not own the engine.”
“He is wrong.”
My father looked at me.
“The notebooks are enough.”
“Not for him.”
I studied the image of Matthew standing behind Marcus.
“He thinks symbols matter.”
“The original documents represent the moment I became more important to the company than he was.”
“He wants to destroy them in front of me.”
My mother touched my shoulder.
“You are not going into that house.”
“I will not be alone.”
“The message specifically demanded it.”
“Matthew also believes I am still afraid to disobey him.”
I looked at Ortiz.
“Can you track the house?”
“We can establish surveillance.”
“Can you hide a transmitter inside the documents?”
“Yes.”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
“Dad.”
“No.”
His voice filled the room.
For a second, I was twenty-six again, standing in his library and refusing to listen.
Then I saw the fear beneath his authority.
He was not trying to control me.
He was terrified of losing me again.
I moved closer.
“You told me love should never demand that I become less than myself.”
His jaw tightened.
“Do not use my own words against me.”
“I spent seven years making myself smaller so Matthew could feel powerful.”
I took his hand.
“I cannot end this by hiding behind you.”
“You are injured.”
“Yes.”
“You almost died.”
“Yes.”
“He may have a gun.”
“Yes.”
My father closed his eyes.
When he opened them, anger had become grief.
“I just got you back.”
“You never lost me.”
The words surprised both of us.
I squeezed his fingers.
“I was simply too ashamed to come home.”
My mother began crying quietly.
My father pulled me against his chest.
The embrace hurt.
I did not care.
After several seconds, he released me.
“One condition.”
“What?”
“You follow Detective Ortiz’s instructions.”
“I will.”
“You wear the transmitter.”
“Yes.”
“And if she tells you to leave, you leave.”
I hesitated.
“Clare.”
“I agree.”
He knew I was not telling the entire truth.
But he nodded anyway.
Before sunset, federal agents surrounded the Southampton neighborhood.
The original trust documents were placed inside a leather folder fitted with a tracking chip.
A small transmitter was hidden beneath the lining of my coat.
Lauren provided the property’s floor plan.
The house contained a panic room beneath the garage.
Marcus was probably being held there.
At 11:32 p.m., I arrived alone in Matthew’s car.
The vehicle had been recovered from a parking garage.
Its familiar leather interior made my skin crawl.
The front door of the Southampton house stood open.
I entered.
No lights were on.
“Matthew?”
My voice echoed through the hall.
A child’s toy airplane rested on the floor.
One wing had been broken.
Then the door slammed behind me.
Matthew stepped from the darkness.
He looked exhausted.
There was dried blood on his cuff.
“You always did enjoy making an entrance.”
I held up the leather folder.
“Let Marcus go.”
Matthew smiled.
“You still think you are in a position to negotiate.”
“I have the documents.”
“You have copies.”
“You asked for the originals.”
His eyes moved toward the folder.
“Put them on the table.”
“Show me Marcus.”
Matthew lifted a remote.
A television screen illuminated the wall.
Marcus appeared on the live feed, tied inside the panic room.
He was still breathing.
“Now place the documents on the table.”
I obeyed.
Matthew picked up the folder.
He opened it.
Then he began laughing.
“What?”
He removed the first page.
“This is not the original.”
My blood turned cold.
“It is.”
“No.”
He held it beneath the lamp.
“The original contains your grandfather’s watermark.”
I stared at the paper.
Detective Ortiz’s team had made a mistake.
Or someone had switched the documents.
Matthew’s smile vanished.
“You brought the police.”
A red light blinked on the wall behind him.
The house alarm activated.
Steel shutters dropped across every window.
The transmitter beneath my coat went silent.
Matthew reached into his jacket.
Then I heard my father’s final warning in my mind.
If she tells you to leave, you leave.
But it was already too late.
May you like
Matthew raised the gun.
“Now,” he whispered, “we finish what started in the penthouse.”
