Chapter 16

POV: Isabella

The penthouse was a cage with a better view. Liam’s view.

I stood in the center of the living room. The floor was polished stone. Cold. It reflected the recessed lighting like a dark lake. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan was a grid of electric fire.

"The security is proprietary," Liam said. He was standing by the door, coat still on. He didn't come in. He hovered. "Encrypted biometric entry. No one gets in without my authorization. Not even the board."

"I am not a board member," I said.

"You're a Vane."

"That’s why I’m leaving."

I set my bag on the marble counter. It made a soft thud. It was the only thing I owned that hadn't been searched by the DOJ or charred by the lighthouse fire. Inside was a change of clothes and the master drive.

"Isabella, the street is a mess," Liam said. His voice was tight. He moved with a slight hitch in his shoulder—a structural flaw I had caused. "The press is camped out at your father’s place. They’re at the office. This is the only place you’re invisible."

"I’m not invisible here. I’m yours."

I looked at him. He didn't look away. His eyes were scanning for leverage. He wanted to find the argument that would make me sit down. He wanted to secure the asset.

"It’s a temporary arrangement," he said.

"No."

"Where will you go?"

"A hotel."

"They'll find you in ten minutes."

"Not a hotel for people like us."

I picked up my bag. I didn't look at the skyline. I didn't want to see the heights. I wanted the ground. I wanted to be where the air didn't feel so thin.

I walked past him. He didn't move to stop me. He knew the math. A pushed asset is an unreliable one. He just watched me.

"I’ll send a car," he said.

"I’ll take the subway."

"Isabella."

"The subway, Liam. No GPS. No driver to sell the address to a tabloid."

I hit the elevator button. The doors opened immediately.

"The Department of Justice," he said. "They’ll want a location."

"Give them my lawyer's office. That’s what he’s paid for."

The doors slid shut.

I watched his reflection in the brushed steel until the gap disappeared. My heart was a fast, steady drum. One. Two. Three.

---

The apartment was on the border of Queens.

It was above a bakery that smelled like burnt sugar and yeast. The lobby had no marble. It had linoleum that peeled at the corners like old skin. The elevator smelled of wet wool and industrial cleaner.

I liked it. It was quiet. It was small. It didn't have room for a ghost or a CEO.

The walls were thin. I could hear a television in 4B. A game show. The clapping was rhythmic. Mindless. I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress was too soft. It lacked the firm resistance of the Vane estate. It gave too much.

I opened my laptop. The blue light hit my face.

Market Close: Sterling Tech. down 6%.

The leak was a slow-acting poison. It wasn't killing the company yet, but it was eroding the trust. My father was silent. His lawyers were issuing denials like clockwork.

I checked the private server. The one slaved to the house in Jersey.

The data was still uploading.

My mother’s project.

It wasn't a weapon. It wasn't a bank hack.

I saw a file name: E_V_Maternal_Line_01.dat.

I clicked it.

It was a log of bank transfers. Not from Vane accounts. From a trust I didn't recognize. The money was moving to small, local charities. Food banks. Clinics. In cities where the Vane family had shuttered factories twenty years ago.

Reparations.

My mother wasn't building a core. She was building a conscience.

I closed the laptop. My fingers were cold.

I went to the window.

I didn't pull the curtain back. I looked through a crack in the fabric. The street was dark. A streetlamp flickered. A man walked a dog. A woman pushed a stroller. This was the neutral zone. Here, I was a girl in a trench coat. I was Isabella, not The Isabella.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Unknown Number.

I answered. I didn't say anything.

"The board found the dongle," the voice said.

Julian.

"And?" I asked.

"They think you planted it. They think you're working with your mother to tank the stock so you can buy the remains for pennies."

"I don't want the remains."

"They don't believe you. Liam is the only one holding the line. But he’s bleeding, Isabella. Henderson is whispering about a mental health evaluation. Chasing ghosts in Maine. Bringing the enemy into his home."

"He’s not my enemy."

"In this town, anyone you can't control is the enemy."

I looked at the wall. The paint was bubbling.

"What do you want, Julian?"

"I want the frequency. The real one. The one that unlocks the Zurich server."

"No."

"Liam can't save you from a board that wants your head. I can. I have the exits. I have the aliases."

"I don't need an alias."

"The truth is for people who can afford to lose. You can't."

The line went dead.

I sat in the dark. The game show in 4B ended. The clapping stopped.

I felt a sharp, sudden heat in my chest. Anger.

Not at Liam. Not at Julian.

At the glass.

Everything in my life was visible. Every move was a data point. Every silence was a confession.

I got up. I went to the kitchen. I poured a glass of tap water. It tasted like pipes.

I thought about the island. The fire. The way the lighthouse looked when it was burning. At least there, the light was honest. It was meant to destroy.

Here, the light was a probe.

I went back to the bed. I didn't sleep. I watched the ceiling. I counted the cracks.

One. Two. Three. Four.

---

The morning was grey.

I went down to the bakery. I bought a coffee. Black. No sugar. The man behind the counter didn't look at me. He looked at the register. He looked at the line of people behind me.

"Three-fifty," he said.

I gave him the cash.

"Have a nice day."

"You too."

I walked out onto the sidewalk. The air was sharp. It felt good on my skin. I walked three blocks. I looked at the storefronts. A dry cleaner. A hardware store. A bodega. This was real. This had weight. This was what people did when they weren't being hunted.

I sat on a park bench. A pigeon landed near my feet. I watched it peck at a discarded wrapper.

I felt safe.

Then my phone buzzed.

It was a link from Felix. No text. Just a URL.

I clicked it.

It was a gossip site. The kind that uses long-lens cameras and grainy filters. The headline made the coffee turn to lead in my stomach.

FALLEN PRINCESS: ISABELLA VANE SPOTTED IN QUEENS SLUMS. IS THE VANE FORTUNE GONE?

There were three photos.

The first was of me entering the bakery. My head was down. I looked tired.

The second was of me at the counter. The man's face was blurred, but mine was clear. My hand was visible. The scar from the lighthouse was bright.

The third was the one that stopped my heart.

It was a photo taken through the window of my apartment. Through the crack in the curtain.

It was me. Sitting on the bed. Looking at my laptop. My face was illuminated by the screen.

The caption read: WORKING THE DATA? SOURCES SAY THE HEIRESS IS HIDING THE MISSING BILLIONS IN A WALK-UP APARTMENT.

I stood up. My knees were shaking.

I looked around the park. Everyone was a stranger. Everyone was a lens.

I saw a black car at the corner. It wasn't Liam’s. It was a sedan with tinted windows. A man was standing next to it. He was holding a camera with a lens the size of a telescope.

He didn't hide it. He pointed it at me.

Flash.

I turned and ran.

I didn't go back to the apartment. That was compromised. That was over. I ran toward the subway station. I hit the stairs. I swiped my card. The turnstile clicked.

I got on the first train. I didn't care where it was going.

The doors shut.

I leaned against the map. I was breathing hard. My chest hurt.

I looked at the person sitting across from me. A teenager. He was looking at his phone.

Then he looked at me.

Then he looked back at his phone.

He smiled. He held the phone up.

"Are you her?" he asked. "The girl from the fire?"

I didn't answer. I got off at the next stop.

I walked into a crowded pharmacy. I went to the back. I pulled out my phone. I called the only number that worked.

"Liam."

"I saw the photos," he said. He sounded tired. He sounded like he was already in the car. "I’m at the bridge. Where are you?"

"I’m in a pharmacy. On 31st."

"Stay there. Don't go outside."

"They’re everywhere, Liam. They’re in the windows."

"I know. I'm coming."

I leaned against a shelf of bandages.

"Liam."

"Yeah."

"The photo in the room."

"I saw it."

"The curtain was closed."

Silence on the line. I could hear the roar of his car’s engine.

"Isabella," he said. His voice was cold. Strategic. "If the curtain was closed, the camera wasn't on the street."

I looked at the ceiling of the pharmacy. I saw the smoke detector. I saw the small, glass lens in the center of it.

"It’s in the house," I said.

"The safe house?"

"No. This apartment. The one I found."

"Who gave you the listing, Isabella?"

I thought back. The lawyer. The one Arthur had paid for ten years. The one who told me it was a "neutral" spot.

"My father," I whispered.

"Get out of there. Now. Walk to the back exit. Don't look at the cameras."

I hung up.

I walked toward the back. I passed a mirror. I saw myself. I looked small. I looked trapped.

I reached the back door. It was heavy metal. I pushed it open.

The alley was narrow. It smelled like garbage.

A car was idling at the end of the alley. Black. Tinted windows.

The back door opened.

"Isabella," a voice said.

It wasn't Liam. It was Sarah. From the board. She was holding a tablet.

"Get in," she said. "Before the police arrive."

"The police?"

"Your father just filed a missing persons report. He’s claiming Liam has kidnapped you again. If you're found with him, he goes to prison for life."

I looked at the car. I looked at the street behind me. I saw Liam’s SUV turning the corner, tires screeching.

Cliffhanger:

I looked at Sarah.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

Sarah didn't look at the camera. She looked at me.

"Liam isn't the only one with a tracker, Isabella. Your mother wants to talk. And she doesn't want Liam listening."

Sarah held out a phone. The screen was live. It was a video of the penthouse. Liam’s penthouse.

I saw Liam walking through the door.

I saw the red laser dot on his chest.

"Tell her you're coming," Sarah said. "Or he doesn't make it to the elevator."