Chapter 8
The interrogation room door opened.
It wasn't a detective. It was the Compton family lawyer, followed by Hightower.
"Eleonora," the lawyer said. "Sign this plea deal. Admit to the assault. Mr. Hightower will pay your bail and the charges will be... suspended."
"It's an admission of guilt," Eleonora said. "I'll have a record."
"No," Hightower grinned, leaning over the table. "I'll take you to my private island. For 'rehab'. No one will check your record there."
It was a kidnapping. Legalized kidnapping.
"Don't fight it, baby," Hightower whispered. "Alden Stark didn't come, did he?"
The words hit her like a physical blow.
No. He didn't.
She looked at Hightower's sweaty face. She looked at the lawyer.
"Okay," she said. "I'll sign. But I need air. It's suffocating in here."
Officer Martinez stepped in. "Mr. Hightower, you need to process the bail payment at the front desk."
Hightower smirked. "Don't go anywhere, honey."
He walked out.
Eleonora stood up. "'Officer,' she said, her voice loud and clear enough to carry, 'I wish to file a formal complaint against the arresting officer, badge number 4815. There was improper chain of custody for the evidence they allegedly found, and I was not read my Miranda rights correctly upon arrest.'"
Martinez sighed, annoyed by the paperwork this would create. As she turned to a superior to report the complaint, and with Hightower distracted signing the bond, Eleonora saw her opening-a brief moment of procedural chaos. She didn't shove anyone. She simply slipped through the gap created by the shift change and bolted.
"Hey!" Martinez shouted.
"Grab her!" Hightower roared.
Eleonora burst through the double doors.
The rain hit her instantly. A wall of water.
She had no shoes. Her bare feet slapped against the wet pavement. Glass shards and gravel dug into her skin.
She didn't feel it. She ran.
She heard heavy footsteps behind her. Hightower's bodyguards.
She reached the main road. Traffic was blurring past.
She ran into the middle of the street.
A yellow cab slammed on its brakes, skidding on the wet asphalt. The horn blared.
Eleonora ripped the back door open and dove in. "Drive! Stark Tower! Go!"
A fist pounded on the trunk. A face appeared at the window-one of the guards.
"Drive!" she screamed.
The driver floored it. The cab lurched forward, leaving the guard cursing in the rain.
Eleonora collapsed on the seat. She looked at her feet. They were shredded, bleeding onto the rubber mats.
Thirty minutes later. The cab pulled up to the glass monolith of Stark Tower.
"That's fifty bucks, lady," the driver said.
Eleonora reached into her bra, her fingers finding the small, hard shape in the lining. Her mother's locket.
She ripped it out. "This is gold. It's worth five hundred. Keep the change."
She threw it on the front seat and rolled out of the car.
She stood on the sidewalk. Barefoot. Bleeding. Soaking wet.
She looked up at the revolving doors. This was it.
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