Window Ledge

Julian's betrayal wasn't hot like Arthur's, or cold like Victoria's. It was hollow. Empty. He was a man made of paper, crumbling in the wind.

Elena looked at him, then at the guard. Five minutes. She had three left.

"He's where he belongs?" she repeated, her voice low. "And where is that, Julian? Back in the asylum? Back in the attic? Or did Arthur convince you to put him somewhere... deeper?"

Julian flinched. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"He's safe," Julian said. "He's alive. That's more than Mother wanted."

"And that's supposed to comfort me?"

"It's supposed to save you," Julian said. "If you plead out... if you take the deal... I can protect you. I can protect the children."

"You can't even protect yourself."

She walked to the bench and sat down. The metal was freezing through the thin orange jumpsuit.

"I'm not pleading," she said. "I'm not taking the deal. I'm going to trial."

"You'll lose," Julian said. "Arthur has the judge. He has the prosecutor. He has the evidence."

"He doesn't have everything," Elena said.

She thought of the phone. The recording. Marcus.

She hadn't heard from Marcus since the text on the tablet. *I have the tape. Sit tight.* That was twenty-four hours ago.

If Marcus had released the tape, she wouldn't be here. Rossi would have come back. The charges would have been dropped.

Unless Marcus was compromised. Or dead.

She looked at Julian. He was watching her, waiting for her to break.

"Get out," she said.

"Elena—"

"Get out!" she screamed, standing up. "Go back to your mother. Go back to your jar."

Julian stared at her. Then he nodded, once. He knocked on the door.

The guard opened it. Julian stepped out, the heavy steel door clanging shut behind him.

Elena was alone again.

Seventy-two white tiles. Seventy-two grey.

She paced. Three steps forward. Turn. Three steps back.

She needed to get out. She couldn't fight from inside a cage.

She looked at the window. It was high up, barred, reinforced with wire mesh. Impossible.

She looked at the vent. Too small.

She looked at the door. Electronic lock. Keycard access.

She was trapped.

Unless...

She remembered the guard. He was young. Bored. He had been chewing gum, tapping his foot. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at his phone.

And when he opened the door for Julian, he hadn't swiped a card. He had punched a code.

*4-8-1-5.*

She had seen his fingers move.

But the keypad was on the outside.

She paced again.

An hour passed. Then two.

The light buzzed.

Then, a new sound.

A commotion in the hallway. Shouting. The sound of running feet.

The alarm blared. Not the fire alarm. The security alarm.

*Lockdown.*

The lights in the cell flickered and died, replaced by the red glow of the emergency strobes.

The electronic lock on the door clicked.

*Power failure.*

The door popped open an inch.

Elena froze. It was a trap. It had to be.

But then she heard a voice.

"Elena!"

It wasn't Julian. It wasn't Arthur.

It was Marcus.

She ran to the door. She pushed it open.

The hallway was chaotic. Smoke was filling the air—white, acrid smoke. Tear gas?

Marcus was standing at the end of the corridor, wearing a maintenance uniform and holding a fire extinguisher.

"Move!" he shouted.

Elena ran. She didn't ask questions. She followed him through the smoke, down a service stairwell, into the basement garage.

A laundry van was waiting, engine idling.

"Get in," Marcus said, throwing open the back doors.

Elena climbed in. She was surrounded by bags of dirty linens.

Marcus jumped into the driver's seat. He gunned the engine. The van squealed out of the garage, hitting the daylight with a jolt.

"How?" Elena asked, crawling to the front. "How did you get in?"

"I didn't," Marcus said, grinning. "I hacked the HVAC system. triggered a chemical alarm. The lockdown protocol opens all internal doors for evacuation."

"You hacked a federal courthouse?"

"I had help," Marcus said. "Your son is a genius. He gave me the root access codes for the security firm Arthur uses. Apparently, their password was 'password'."

"Leo?"

"He's safe," Marcus said. "I have them. Both of them."

Elena felt the breath leave her body. "You have the children?"

"I intercepted the nanny at the airport," Marcus said. "Before they got on the jet. I showed her the tape. I played her the part where Victoria talks about 'accidents in the Alps'."

"And she believed you?"

"She has a conscience," Marcus said. "And she hates flying."

He handed her a phone. Not a burner. A satellite phone.

"Make the call," he said.

"To who?"

"To the press," Marcus said. "We're going live in ten minutes."

Elena took the phone. She looked out the window. They were on the highway, heading away from the city. Away from the vineyard.

She dialed.

But as she put the phone to her ear, the van swerved.

Marcus cursed.

"Company."

Elena looked back.

A black SUV was behind them. And behind that, a police cruiser.

"Hold on," Marcus yelled.

He slammed on the brakes. The van skidded, spinning sideways across the highway.

The SUV slammed into them. Metal screamed. Glass shattered.

The van tipped. It rolled. Once. Twice.

Elena’s world became a blur of spinning sky and asphalt.

Then, silence.

She was hanging upside down, held by the seatbelt. Blood dripped into her eyes.

"Marcus?"

No answer.

She unbuckled the belt. She dropped to the roof of the van. She crawled out through the shattered windshield.

She hit the ground. A security guard was waiting.