Chapter 4: The Puppet Master’s Hand
The mother pulled a small, silver pistol from her jacket. It wasn't the dramatic weapon of an assassin; it was a clinical, precise tool. She didn't hurry. She moved with the grace of someone who had never known the consequences of a mistake.
Elara scrambled toward the far wall, her heart hammering against her chest. She needed to get to the router hidden behind the velvet curtains. If she could just reach it, she could upload the file.
"You think you’re smart, don't you?" the mother said, tracking Elara with the gun. "You think you’ve recorded our little chat. You think your father is listening. Poor, naive girl."
Elara stopped. Her breath hitched. "What are you talking about?"
"Your father?" The mother let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "Your father has been on our payroll since the day you were born, Elara. Who do you think provided the security codes to this estate? Who do you think authorized your 'abduction'?"
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The floor beneath Elara felt like it was tilting. The world blurred. Her father—her hero, the man she had trusted her entire life—was the architect of her misery. The betrayal was so profound, so absolute, that it felt like her soul had been hollowed out.
Nathan watched, a cruel, satisfied smirk on his face. "The call wasn't for help, Elara. It was a check-in."
