Chapter 7
The biometric lock on the penthouse door flashed green for the last time.
Charlie pushed the door open and stepped into the suffocating silence of the apartment.
She walked straight past the designer furniture and headed into the master bedroom's walk-in closet.
Half of the massive space was filled with her clothes-haute couture gowns, seasonal designer bags, and velvet boxes holding priceless jewelry.
Charlie's eyes swept over them without a single ounce of attachment.
She walked to the very back corner and dragged out a battered, old Samsonite suitcase. It was the same one she had brought with her three years ago.
She unzipped it and began tossing in her old, worn-out sweaters, a few pairs of jeans, her heavy medical textbooks, and her personal identification documents.
She opened the bottom drawer to grab her passport.
Sitting right next to it was a velvet box containing a multi-million-dollar diamond necklace-the only anniversary gift Kayson had ever given her.
She didn't even brush her fingers against it. She slammed the drawer shut.
The suitcase wasn't even half full when she zipped it up.
Charlie dragged it out into the living room and stopped by the glass coffee table.
The divorce agreement she had signed last night was still sitting there. Next to it was the torn foil of the Plan B pill.
She slowly raised her left hand. She stared at the massive diamond ring sitting on her ring finger. The symbol of her three-year prison sentence.
Without a tremor in her hand, she pulled the ring off.
She placed it precisely on top of her signature on the divorce agreement.
The diamond caught the afternoon light, sparkling brilliantly, but it felt like a piece of dead ice.
Charlie grabbed the handle of her suitcase. She turned her back on the penthouse and walked out the front door, pulling it shut with a heavy, final click.
Downstairs, she got into an Uber and gave the driver an address in a run-down neighborhood in Brooklyn.
An hour later, the car pulled up to a weathered, red-brick apartment building.
Charlie hauled her suitcase up three flights of creaking wooden stairs.
She dug a rusty brass key out of her bag, shoved it into the lock, and twisted hard.
The door groaned open, releasing a cloud of stale, dusty air.
This was her property. A secret safe house she had bought under a fake name using the untraceable funds her hacker brother had set up for her before she ever met Kayson. The Logan family's massive intelligence network knew nothing about it.
Charlie dragged her suitcase inside and walked to the window, pulling back the heavy, moth-eaten curtains.
Sunlight flooded the cramped space, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
She wiped a layer of grime off the old sofa with a tissue and collapsed onto the cushions.
The adrenaline finally crashed. Charlie buried her face in her hands and let out a long, shuddering breath.
Slowly, she moved her hands down, resting them protectively over her flat stomach.
"It's just you and me now, baby," she whispered into the quiet room. Her eyes were fierce and unyielding.
Suddenly, a sharp, aggressive vibration buzzed from the depths of her canvas tote.
Charlie's posture instantly straightened.
She pulled out a heavily encrypted, thick black smartphone.
The screen glowed with a single, urgent message from the Dark Web. An emergency surgical request for "S".
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