Chapter 3 - The Unmarked Sedan
I did not run because I was safe; I ran because I refused to stay in a trap, even one with an open door.
I dropped from the last rung of the ladder onto the wet cobblestones, my boots making a quiet splash. The heavy side gate of the estate—a gate that had been locked with a iron chain every night of my life—was standing wide open, its heavy latch pulled back.
I slipped out into the alley, my heart pounding in my ears.
At the corner of 5th Avenue, parked beneath a flickering streetlamp, sat a non-descript gray sedan with tinted windows. The engine was idling, a thin trail of white exhaust curling into the freezing night air.
I stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, my hands clenched in my tunic pockets.
If I got into that car, I was stepping into Gabriel’s hand. If I stayed on foot, I would freeze in the November rain before I made it six blocks to the subway station.
The rear door of the sedan opened from the inside.
A woman in a sharp gray suit sat behind the wheel. She didn't turn around, but her voice was crisp and professional. "Ms. Vane. Get in. Mr. Voss reserved a heated suite for you at the Grand Sovereign downtown."
"I am not going to a hotel owned by Gabriel," I said, my voice shaking slightly with cold and adrenaline.
"The Grand Sovereign is owned by the Manhattan Trust, Ms. Vane," the driver replied, handing a leather folder over her head toward the back seat. "Your room key, five thousand dollars in cash, and a burner phone are inside this pouch. Mr. Voss instructed me to inform you that you are entirely free to go anywhere you wish. However, the hotel is secure, clean, and the kitchen is open until 2:00 AM."
I stared at the leather pouch. "Why?"
"I am paid to drive, Ms. Vane," the woman said simply. "Not to explain the motives of Gabriel Voss."
I looked back at my father’s estate. In the distance, I could see commotion starting near the grand entrance—valets rushing around, lights flickering in the third-floor suite. My father had realized I was missing.
I stepped into the back seat of the sedan and pulled the door shut.
The car pulled away from the curb smoothly, its tires humming against the wet pavement as we drove away from the life I had known for twenty-four years.
I opened the leather pouch. Inside was a keycard for Room 1402, a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and a black flip phone.
As I picked up the phone, it vibrated in my palm.
A single text message was displayed on the screen:
“The soup at the Sovereign is good. Eat something, Clara. We will audit your father’s books tomorrow at ten.”
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass.
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He hadn't married me to possess me. He hadn't bought my father's debt to own a bride.
He had bought the debt to get inside Vane Maritime’s ledgers—and he needed me alive, free, and sharp enough to help him burn my father’s fraudulent empire to the ground.
