Allison Calls in a Friend
My thumb hovered over the contact list until it landed on Maya — a former FBI cyber‑crime analyst who owed me a favor.
I whispered into the phone, “Maya, I need you to pull the thread on Warren. He’s tied to a syndicate, and they’re using this estate as a shield.”
She breathed in, steady, then said, “I’ll file a request. If we get a warrant, I can trace the offshore accounts and the encrypted ledger you found.”
Her voice was a lifeline; I felt a spark of hope flicker beneath the dread.
Almost immediately my phone vibrated. The screen lit up with a name I’d tried to forget: Beverly.
“Stop digging, Allison. You’ll ruin everything for the girls.”
I stared at the words, heart pounding, and felt the weight of the room press down on my shoulders.
“Who are you?” I snapped, voice shaking. “What do you want?”
She replied with icy calm, “Consider this a courtesy. Your husband’s generosity has limits. Back off, or the girls will pay.”
Behind me, the garden lights flickered as the power hiccuped again, a reminder of the darkness that had swallowed the camera feed.
I slipped the phone into my palm, eyes darting to Warren’s sleek black iPhone lying on the marble side table.
It buzzed, a single vibration that lit a cryptic string of numbers: 4‑9‑2‑7‑13‑X‑B. My breath caught.
I knew Warren used that code for clandestine meet‑ups with his contacts; the “X” signaled an urgent summons.
My mind raced: if he’s already coordinating with the syndicate, my call to Maya may be too late.
But I couldn’t let the threat silence me. I typed a brief reply to Maya, “Need you now. Send secure line.”
She responded, “On it. Stay put, keep the kids close.”
I tucked the phone back, eyes never leaving Warren’s glowing screen, the message a dark promise hanging between us.
