Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Boston
The drive from New Hampshire to Boston took just under two hours, but to me, it felt like a journey through a landscape of old nightmares.
I left Mateo under the strict supervision of the two federal marshals at the house, taking my secure truck and driving down Interstate 93 as the morning sun struggled to break through the heavy overcast sky.
Boston University’s campus was a sprawling, urban environment, woven directly into the fabric of the city. As I parked near Valerie’s dormitory, the sight of thousands of young students walking with backpacks and coffee cups made the security challenge feel immense. How do you protect a girl from a ghost in a crowd of thirty thousand people?
I met Valerie in a quiet, basement coffee shop off Commonwealth Avenue. She was wearing a thick university sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She looked so much like her mother did at that age—sharp, elegant, and striking—but her posture was entirely different. Chloe had always carried herself with a defensive, fragile vanity; Valerie carried herself with the quiet, unshakeable confidence of a woman who knew her own worth.
"Are the marshals actually on campus?" Valerie asked as she sat across from me, a steaming cup of tea between her hands.
"They have two plainclothes officers stationed near your residence hall, and campus security has been flagged with her photo," I said. "But Chloe is smart, Val. She knows how to blend in. She spent years navigating high-society social circles; she knows how to look like she belongs anywhere."
"Why now, Dad?" Valerie looked at me, her green eyes searching mine. "Why wait ten years to skip parole? Why not just run to Europe with the money she had left?"
"Because the money she had left was frozen," I explained. "The safety deposit box she accessed last week... that was her emergency reserve. She couldn't touch it while she was under active federal surveillance. She had to wait until she was released, wait for the perfect moment when the system’s guard was down."
As we spoke, my phone buzzed with an incoming text from an unknown number.
My finger hovered over the screen. I swiped to open it.
It was an image.
It was a photograph of Valerie and me, taken from a distance of about fifty yards, through what looked like a telephoto lens. We were sitting in the exact coffee shop we were currently in, our faces clearly visible through the glass window.
Beneath the image was a single line of text: She has her father's eyes, Daniel. But she still has my smile. See you soon.
My blood ran cold. I immediately stood up, my eyes scanning the street through the coffee shop window. The sidewalk was crowded with students, delivery drivers, and shoppers. There was no sign of anyone watching us, but the message was clear.
She was already here.
"Valerie, we’re leaving. Now," I said, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair.
May you like
"Dad? What is it?" she asked, her voice rising in alarm as she saw the expression on my face.
"She’s watching us," I said, pulling her toward the back exit of the coffee shop, my hand instinctively reaching for the concealed holster at my waist. "We need to get to a secure area immediately."
