Chapter 17 - RETURN TO HAWTHORNE RIDGE

We followed from a distance.

Naomi refused to let me lead the rescue.

I ignored her.

Hawthorne Ridge sat empty beneath a gray morning sky.

Federal agents surrounded the property.

Thermal imaging showed three people inside the main building.

Daria.

Elena.

And a bodyguard.

Daria called again.

“Come inside alone.”

“No.”

“Then Elena dies.”

I closed my eyes.

Naomi whispered, “We can breach.”

“No.”

Elena had already lost thirty-eight years because of me.

I would not gamble another second.

I entered through the front door wearing a hidden microphone.

The building smelled like bleach and old wood.

I found Daria in the room where Catherine had once been held.

Elena sat tied to a chair.

Daria stood behind her with a gun.

“Samuel.”

“Let her go.”

“She abandoned you.”

Elena shouted, “She stole you!”

Daria struck the back of the chair.

“Quiet.”

I stepped forward.

“You killed my father.”

“He betrayed me.”

“You kidnapped my wife.”

“She was taking you away.”

“You stole my daughter before I was old enough to know my own name.”

Daria’s expression cracked.

“I gave you everything.”

“No. You took everything.”

For the first time, she looked old.

Not powerful.

Not elegant.

Just afraid.

She raised the gun.

“You should have stayed broken after Catherine died.”

I looked at the ceiling camera behind her.

Red light.

Recording.

Just like Catherine had once survived because my mother underestimated what could be witnessed, Daria was now confessing under surveillance installed by federal agents after the first raid.

I smiled.

“What?”

“You always loved controlling the story.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“But you forgot the camera.”

Daria spun.

Naomi’s team breached the room.

The gun fired.

Glass shattered.

Elena screamed.

Agents tackled Daria.

I reached Elena and cut the restraints.

Daria fought on the floor, screaming my name.

“Samuel! Stop them!”

I looked at the woman I had called Mother my entire life.

“No.”

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Handcuffs clicked around her wrists.

“This time,” I said, “you live with what you did.”