Chapter 7 - The Seattle SafehouseBack in Seattle, Evelyn and my legal team strongly advised against remaining at Maya’s house long-term. Even with a federal restraining order in place, a desperate man backed into a corner was entirely unpredictable, and my thirty-four-week pregnancy meant we couldn't risk any unexpected security breaches.
By evening, Evelyn had arranged for us to relocate to a secure, highly confidential safehouse located on a private gated estate on Bainbridge Island, accessible only by ferry or private yacht.
The estate was breathtaking—a modern architectural masterpiece of glass, steel, and warm cedar nestled amidst towering evergreen trees, complete with round-the-clock armed private security detail managed by Marcus Hale’s elite tactical firm.
As I walked into the sunlit master bedroom overlooking the calm waters of Puget Sound, Maya sighed with relief, sinking into a plush leather armchair.
“Okay, I officially feel like we’re starring in an international spy thriller,” Maya admitted, looking around at the state-of-the-art security monitors mounted near the door. “Are we sure Daniel doesn't know about this place?”
“Not even Evelyn’s junior partners knew about this estate until two hours ago,” I said, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and watching a ferry glide across the gray water. “This property is held under an offshore maritime trust created by my grandfather. It doesn't appear on any public or domestic real estate registry.”
Yet, despite the absolute luxury and ironclad security surrounding us, a strange, persistent prickle of unease tickled the back of my neck.
During his parting words on Maya’s porch, Daniel hadn't just sounded angry—he had sounded confident in a way that didn't make sense for a man who had just lost his company and his wife. He had explicitly mentioned Vanessa Cole and people “far more dangerous than him.”
Daniel wasn't a criminal mastermind; he was an ambitious corporate executive who outsourced his dirty work. But Vanessa Cole? Her financial background was a ghost story. No birth records prior to age eighteen, elite Swiss boarding school credentials funded by untraceable shell corporations, and deep ties to high-net-worth international syndicates specializing in hostile corporate liquidation.
If Vanessa was backing him, Daniel was merely a pawn in a much larger, darker game.
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My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It wasn't an incoming call or a text message; it was an automated security alert from the estate’s perimeter sensors.
“Perimeter breach detected: Sector Four, North Dock.”
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