Chapter 11 - The Hostage of the Past
The fluorescent lights of the precinct briefing room hummed like an angry hornet. I stared at the photograph of my sister Emily on the metal table, my hands trembling so violently I could barely hold the paper.
“He had this scheduled for automatic release?” I whispered, looking up at Agent Vance and Mara. My chest felt like it was caving in. All the adrenaline, all the triumph from the bank raid vanished, replaced by a suffocating wave of pure dread.
“It’s a dead-man’s switch,” Mara said grimly, leaning over the table to examine the envelope. “Daniel knew the feds were closing in on his finances. He built an automated protocol through an encrypted offshore server. If he doesn't enter an override code by 12:00 PM tomorrow, this photograph—along with fabricated allegations linking your sister to his embezzlement schemes—will be blasted to every major news outlet and federal prosecutor in the country.”
“He’s weaponizing my family,” I choked out, tears stinging my eyes. “Emily is just a graduate student. She doesn't know anything about his business, his shell companies, nothing!”
“We can trace the server IP and request an emergency takedown through Interpol,” Agent Vance said, typing rapidly on his laptop. “But offshore servers in non-extradition zones take a minimum of forty-eight hours to subpoena. We only have twelve hours before the timer expires.”
“Twelve hours,” I repeated numbly. I sat back down in the metal chair, staring at the wall. Daniel had outsmarted us again. Even from inside a maximum-security federal holding cell, with his assets frozen and his lawyers arrested, he was still pulling the strings.
“There’s only one way to stop it,” Mara said quietly.
I looked up at her. “What?”
“You have to go talk to him.”
The visitation room at the federal detention center was cold, smelling of bleach and despair. I sat on one side of the thick, reinforced glass partition, staring at my own reflection in the smudged plexiglass.
Ten minutes later, the heavy metal door on the opposite side clicked open. Two guards escorted Daniel in.
He wore an orange jumpsuit, but he didn't look defeated. He walked with his shoulders back, his dark hair slightly messy in a way that only added to his dangerous, brooding appeal. When he sat down on the other side of the glass, he picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver and smiled.
I picked up my receiver with a shaking hand.
“You look tired, Claire,” Daniel’s voice came through the tiny speaker, smooth, calm, and dripping with absolute mockery. “Running around the city breaking into banks with detectives? Playing hero? It doesn't suit you. You look much better when you’re quiet.”
“Where is Emily?” I demanded, pressing my face close to the glass. “Call off the dead-man’s switch, Daniel. She has nothing to do with this.”
Daniel chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Oh, sweet girl. You still don't understand how the world works, do you? You thought you could tear down my empire and walk away scot-free? You thought you could replace me?”
His eyes flared with sudden, dark venom. The charming mask melted away, leaving only the monster underneath.
“You want your sister safe?” Daniel whispered into the receiver, his gaze locking onto mine with chilling intensity. “Here are my terms. You drop all charges. You sign over full power of attorney of the remaining estate back to my new legal team. And tomorrow morning, during my arraignment hearing, you stand up in front of the judge and confess that you fabricated the entire domestic abuse story out of a psychotic jealous rage.”
I stared at him, my heart stopping. “You want me to lie? You want me to tell the world I made it all up?”
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“And then,” Daniel smiled wider, his eyes gleaming with sick pleasure, “you walk back into our house, lock the front door, and wait for me to come home.”
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