Chapter 4 - The Recovery and the Trap
Three weeks passed.
Under the unwavering care of Dr. Vance and the tight security provided by Elias’s federal team, my body stabilized. The premature contractions subsided, though I was ordered to remain on strict bed rest until my delivery date.
Elias had moved me out of the house I had shared with Graham—a house I discovered had been purchased with my own grand-father’s stolen money—and into his secure, private estate in Marblehead overlooking the ocean.
The salt air filled my bedroom window as I sat up in bed, folding tiny yellow onesies into a wooden basket resting on my lap.
"You're overexerting yourself," Elias said, stepping into the sunlit room carrying a tray with warm soup and fresh juice.
"I'm folding cotton, Elias, not lifting weights," I laughed softly, though a gentle sigh escaped my lips. I looked out at the blue expanse of the Atlantic. "It still feels like a dream. Every morning I wake up expecting to hear Graham's car pulling into the driveway, or Vivian calling me to demand I sign another waiver."
Elias set the tray down on my nightstand and sat on the edge of the mattress. "They won't ever touch you again, Lena. The grand jury returned a twenty-four-count indictment yesterday. They are facing thirty years to life."
I looked down at my hands. "What about the trust?"
"Fully restored," Elias said smoothly. "The federal government seized the Cayman accounts. Every dollar Graham and Vivian stole has been returned to the Monroe estate. In fact, after liquidating Graham’s logistics company to pay for corporate damages, you are now the sole owner of the main shipping terminal in Boston Harbor."
I blinked in surprise. "I own the terminal?"
"You do," he smiled faintly. "Though right now, your only job is to grow those two boys."
My stomach tightened slightly as one of the babies kicked hard against my ribs. I smiled, resting my hand over the spot. "They’re strong, Elias. Like our mother was."
Before Elias could answer, his phone buzzed sharply on his belt. He unclipped it, looking at the caller ID. His brow furrowed into deep, dangerous lines.
"Speak," Elias said, answering the call.
I watched his face transform from the warm, caring brother into the cold, calculated federal prosecutor.
"When?" Elias asked. "Where are they taking her?"
A pause.
"Understood. Maintain surveillance. Do not move in until I arrive."
Elias hung up the phone and stood up immediately.
"What is it?" I asked, panic flaring in my chest. "Is it Graham?"
"Vivian Cole’s legal team just pulled a maneuver," Elias said, his voice dropping an octave. "They filed an emergency petition claiming she has a life-threatening medical condition requiring transfer to a private clinic in Brookline. A judge signed off on the transfer an hour ago."
"She’s fleeing," I gasped, clutching the blanket. "Elias, she’s going to run!"
"She thinks she is," Elias said, a dark, terrifying smile touching the corners of his lips. "She thinks her father's political connections in New York can get her a private charter out of Logan Airport. She doesn't know that we tapped her attorney's phone two hours ago."
He reached into his jacket, pulling out his leather holster and securing his firearm.
May you like
"Where are you going?" I asked, my heart hammering.
"To complete the arrest myself," Elias said, walking over to kiss the top of my head. "Stay here with the marshals, Lena. I'll be back before dinner."
