Chapter 7: The Trap Tightens

I was on edge for three days—jumping at every call, glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting a black town car to tail me.

Then nothing. My nerves calmed—halfway. The rest stayed knotted, always waiting for the other shoe.

Then, as I was leaving D.C., my fiancé Derek called. Sweet, steady Derek, who brought my mother flowers, wanted kids, a house in the suburbs.

"Rachel, who did you cross? Why are they coming after me? Our friends and family invested in my company—it’s all gone. Contracts pulled, loans called, suppliers demanding cash. Rachel, I’m begging you, talk to him, ask him to let me go. If he won’t...I can’t take it anymore."

Derek’s voice broke, wild with panic. His office was on the seventh floor—high enough. The threat was real.

I stood in my childhood bedroom, the faded Disney princess wallpaper pressing in, feeling ice-cold.

"Derek, who is it?"

"A man named Thompson, a secretary. But the power behind him...God, Rachel, the calls, the threats..."

My phone felt like a live wire in my hand. I kept waiting for it to ring again—with worse news.

Thompson. Nathan’s right hand, his fixer, his shadow.