Chapter 1 - The Sky Drop
The air tore at my lungs, a deafening scream of wind that threatened to rip the consciousness right out of me. To Richard, watching from the open bay of the chopper as it veered sharply away into the blinding sun, I was nothing more than a doomed silhouette tumbling toward a watery grave. He thought gravity and three thousand feet of vertical drop would erase his problems, cementing his sole control over Hayes Global Enterprise.
He had forgot who built that empire.
Two seconds into the fall, as my arms flailed in what looked like sheer panic, my hand locked onto the hidden seam inside my heavy custom maternity coat. Months ago, knowing Richard’s obsession with high-altitude excursions and private flights, I had contracted a former military engineer to construct a discreet, ultra-lightweight low-altitude parachute integrated directly into the reinforced lining of my coat and harness. It was designed specifically to protect both me and the baby from violent deceleration forces.
I pulled the rip cord.
A sharp pull rattled through my collarbone as the pilot chute caught the air, snapping open with a thunderous crack. The canopy deployed, jerking me upright above the glittering expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Below me, three miles offshore, a stealth motor yacht—crewed by a private security detail I had put on retainer four weeks prior—was already cutting through the waves toward my projected drop zone.
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my fingers were steady as I pressed a tiny tracking button embedded in my watch band. The yacht’s beacon locked onto my signal. Within two minutes, my boots hit the freezing ocean water. Before hypothermia or the weight of the soaked canopy could drag me down, two divers were in the water beside me, hauling me onto the dive platform of the vessel.
"Target secured," Captain Vance called out, throwing a thermal blanket around my shoulders as the crew hurried me inside the warm cabin. "Heartbeat monitor on the baby is stable, Mrs. Hayes. You did it."
I looked out the portside window, watching the distant speck of Richard’s helicopter disappear over the rocky coastline of Big Sur. He was undoubtedly speeding back to the private airfield, rehearsing his frantic call to emergency services, preparing his tearful performance as the grieving husband whose tragic pregnant wife had somehow slipped out of an open door.
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"Let him put on his show," I whispered, resting a shaking hand on my stomach as the baby kicked faintly inside me. "Let him think he won."
What Richard didn't know was that the moment he shoved me, a automatic cryptographic trigger linked to my biometric watch had already sent an encrypted file to my trusted legal counsel. The battle had officially begun.
