Ch.13: Leo's Suspicion

My first day as a "collaborator" was a blur of nausea and deception. I prepped the site. I watched Thorne insert the needle into my daughter's tiny arm. I watched the bag fill with red gold. I monitored her vitals, soothing her when she cried, hating myself with every beat of her heart.

By midnight, I was shaking so hard I couldn't hold a glass of water.

I needed to get a message out. I had no phone—Thorne had confiscated it "for security." I had no internet access. The only way out was physical.

I wrote a note on a napkin using an eyebrow pencil.

*DAISY VANCE IS ALIVE. THORNE ESTATE. SEND POLICE.*

I crumpled it into a tight ball and hid it inside an empty formula canister. I knew the trash pick-up was at 6:00 AM. If I could get this canister to the main bin at the end of the driveway, maybe—just maybe—a sanitation worker would find it. It was a desperate, stupid plan. But it was all I had.

I crept out of the servant's entrance at 2:00 AM.

The night air was freezing. The gravel crunched under my boots like bones. I moved towards the main gate, keeping to the shadows of the hedges.

The trash bins were located in a small brick enclosure near the gatehouse.

I reached the bins. I lifted the lid of the recycling container.

"Going somewhere?"

The voice came from the darkness behind the bins. A lighter flicked on, illuminating a rugged, scarred face.

Leo.

He was sitting on a crate, smoking a cigarette, looking at me with tired, knowing eyes.

I froze, the formula can clutched to my chest.

"Just... taking out the trash," I stammered.

"At two in the morning?" He took a drag, the ember glowing bright orange. "In the rain?"

He stood up and walked toward me. He moved differently than Thorne. Thorne was a snake; Leo was a wolf. Heavy, dangerous, but direct.

"Give it here," he said, holding out a hand.

"It's just garbage."

"Then you won't mind if I check it."

He snatched the can from my hands before I could pull away. He shook it. It rattled.

He popped the lid.

My heart stopped. He reached in and pulled out the crumpled napkin.

"Leo, wait—" I started, stepping forward.

He held up a hand to stop me. He unfolded the napkin. He read the smeared eyebrow pencil scrawl in the light of his cigarette.

*DAISY VANCE IS ALIVE.*

He looked at the note. Then he looked at me. His expression didn't change. No shock. No anger. Just a profound, weary sadness.

"You're not Mara Kovic," he said softly.

"No," I whispered. "I'm Elena. I'm her mother."

I braced myself. He was Thorne's man. He would call security. He would drag me back to the house, and this time, Thorne wouldn't offer me a deal.

Leo crumpled the napkin back up.

Then he pulled a lighter from his pocket.

"What are you doing?" I gasped.

He lit the corner of the napkin. We both watched as the flame ate the paper, turning my desperate plea for help into black ash that floated away on the wind.

"Saving your life," he said gruffly. "The garbage trucks are screened. Thorne pays the sanitation company to check every bag that leaves this estate. If they found this, you'd be dead before breakfast."

He dropped the burning remnant onto the wet pavement and crushed it with his boot.

"Why?" I asked, my voice trembling. "You work for him."

"I drive his car," Leo corrected. He looked up at the looming glass fortress of the house, his eyes hard. "I don't work for him. There's a difference."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper.

"You think you're the first one to try and expose him? The first one to lose something to that monster?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo. It was old, creased. A picture of a younger Leo, smiling, with his arm around a woman who looked vaguely familiar.

"My sister," he said. "She was a maid here five years ago. She got sick. Thorne offered to 'treat' her. She died on his table."

He put the photo away.

"I stayed to find proof," he said. "To find something that wouldn't just get swept under the rug. But he's careful. He's perfect."

He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of hope in his dark eyes.

"But you... you're inside. You're in the West Wing. You see what he does."

"He's bleeding my baby," I choked out.

"I know," Leo said. "I've seen the shipments."

He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. It felt like an anchor.

"Don't send notes in the trash, Elena. It's suicide. If we're going to take him down, we do it right. We do it together."

He looked back at the house, his expression turning savage.

"I don't know what you're up to, Mara. But I hope you burn this place down."