Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Safehouse
I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and cedar wood.
The room was warm—sweltering, almost. A heavy duvet covered me, and a monitor next to the bed hummed with a quiet, reassuring beat: thump-thump, thump-thump.
My hands flew to my stomach.
"She’s fine, Mrs. Carter. Her heart rate is strong."
A woman in scrubs was adjusting an IV bag above my head. We were in a high-tech medical suite, but the walls were exposed log and heavy timber—a cabin, hidden somewhere deep in the wilderness.
"Where am I?" I asked, my voice raspy. My left wrist was tightly encased in a medical cast, and my ribs were wrapped in thick bandaging.
"You're in a private compound outside Aspen," a deep voice spoke from the shadows near the doorway.
Dominic Moretti stepped forward. Without his heavy snow gear, he was even more imposing. Lean, broad-shouldered, wearing a simple black sweater, the ink on his neck caught the soft lamp light—intricate geometric patterns and Latin script.
"How do you know my name?" I demanded, my pulse spiking on the monitor. "Did Michael hire you? Is this a trick?"
Dominic didn't flinch. He pulled a chair over and sat down, crossing one ankle over his knee. "If Michael Carter had hired me, you’d be in a body bag at the bottom of the Big Thompson River. He paid two off-duty park rangers $100,000 this morning to report a 'tragic landslide' that swept your vehicle and body into the rapid waters."
My breath hitched. "He already reported me dead?"
"Yesterday," Dominic corrected softly. "He gave a tearful press conference at the base of the mountain. Said you stepped out to take a photo, the edge crumbled, and he couldn't reach you in time. Ashley Monroe was standing right behind him, wearing a black scarf and wiping away fake tears."
A bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth. Fifty million dollars. That was the life insurance policy Michael had taken out three months ago through his corporate holding firm. He hadn't just wanted to get rid of me to be with Ashley; he needed the payout to cover the massive embezzlement fraud he’d been committing at Carter Financial.
"Why did you save me?" I asked, looking into Dominic’s cold grey eyes. "Nobody does this for free. Who are you?"
Dominic leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The scar on his jaw tightened.
"Three years ago, my younger sister was married to a man like Michael," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register that chilled the room. "A rising star in private equity. She discovered he was laundering cartel money through his firm. Before she could file for divorce, her car went off a cliff in San Mateo. The police called it an accident. I called it murder."
"What happened to him?" I whispered.
"He's serving a life sentence in a federal penitentiary," Dominic said without a shred of emotion. "I spend my time now finding men like him before they finish what they started. Two weeks ago, your father called my firm."
My eyes widened. "My father?"
"Thomas Vance knew something was wrong," Dominic explained. "He noticed the subtle changes in Michael's behavior, the sudden insurance policy changes. He couldn't prove it, so he hired my team to track your husband. We were monitoring Michael’s car the moment he drove you into the park. We were ten minutes behind him because of the storm."
Tears spilled over my cheeks. My gentle, quiet father had tried to protect me.
"Does my father know I'm alive?"
"No," Dominic said quietly. "And for the next two weeks, he can't know."
"What? No! Dominic, he's heart-broken! You said he was at the funeral—"
"If Thomas knows you’re alive, his grief won't be real," Dominic cut me off, his voice firm, unyielding. "Michael is hyper-vigilant right now. He is watching your father to see if Thomas suspects foul play before the insurance company disburses the $50 million payout. Your father’s genuine heartbreak is the only thing convincing Michael that he got away with murder."
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. The thought of my father standing beside an empty casket, broken by a lie, shattered what was left of my heart.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
May you like
Dominic stood up, pulling an encrypted tablet from his coat pocket and placing it on my lap.
"Now, Mrs. Carter, we let Michael stage your funeral. We let him sign the insurance claim forms. And then, we pull the rug out from under his entire world."
