Chapter 4 - The Depths of Deceit
I woke up three days later in a secure VIP recovery suite at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. There was an armed federal marshal sitting outside my door, a clear indication that my status had shifted from domestic abuse victim to primary federal witness against a global syndicate.
The room smelled of fresh lilies and sterile gauze. The heavy bandages wrapping my torso and arms had been changed, the agonizing raw burns treated with advanced skin grafts. My face, previously swollen and bruised from Logan’s blows, had begun to heal, the yellow and purple mottled skin slowly fading back to my natural pale complexion.
The door opened, and Elias walked in, carrying a cardboard tray with two cups of black coffee. He looked tired, his tie loosened, dark circles beneath his eyes indicating he hadn't slept much since he cut my straps.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," he said, pulling a chair to the side of my bed and handing me a cup. "The doctors say your grafts are taking beautifully. You’re lucky. Another twenty minutes in that warehouse fire, and the smoke inhalation alone would have killed you."
"I hold my breath well," I said, managing a weak smile as I took a slow sip of the coffee. The heat felt good against my raw throat. "Tell me the status, Elias. Everything."
Elias leaned back, pulling out a small black notebook. "Vanessa is in federal holding at the Metropolitan Correctional Center. Bail was denied. The judge deemed her an extreme flight risk. Her lawyers are currently trying to negotiate a plea deal, but we have her dead to rights on thirty-two counts of wire fraud, money laundering, and conspiracy."
"And Logan?"
Elias’s expression darkened. "He’s a ghost. He abandoned his Jaguar at a private airfield in Gary, Indiana, but he didn't get on a plane. His passport was flagged, and all of his assets are frozen hard. He has no access to cash, no credit cards, and anyone who might have helped him knows the FBI is watching."
"He won't leave the city," I said firmly, staring into my coffee cup. "Logan is a creature of luxury and ego. He doesn't know how to survive in the shadows. He’s going to try and access his safety nets."
"He doesn't have any," Elias said. "We seized the contents of his safety deposit boxes downtown yesterday."
"You didn't find the black box, did you?" I asked, looking up at him.
Elias stopped, his pen hovering over his notebook. "What black box?"
"When we were married, Logan kept a private biometric safe at an old, unregistered storage facility in the South Loop under an LLC called Apex Ventures," I explained, the memories of my marriage providing the tactical intel I needed. "He thought I didn't know about it. He used to keep emergency cash there—bearer bonds, unpolished diamonds, clean passports. Things he acquired before Vanessa entered the picture."
Elias’s eyes widened. "Is that where the cartel money is?"
"No, that’s his personal escape hatch," I said. "Vanessa didn't know about it. Logan doesn't trust anyone, not even the woman who made him rich. If he's panicked, and he has no access to the banks, he will go to that storage unit to get the diamonds."
Elias immediately stood up, grabbing his radio. "I need an address, Rachel."
"It's on South Canal Street," I said. "Unit 402. But Elias... you won't find the diamonds."
He paused, looking at me with a confused, intense gaze. "Why not?"
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I reached toward the small, personal belongings bag the hospital had placed on the bedside table. My fingers, stiff but functional, unzipped the plastic pouch. I pulled out a heavy, velvet satchel and tossed it onto the bed. It landed with a heavy, distinct clack.
"Because I emptied it the day before the divorce was finalized," I said, watching Elias's jaw drop as the velvet spilled open, revealing a glittering pile of uncut stones and tightly wrapped bundles of bearer bonds. "He stole my company. I stole his parachute. And right now, Logan is standing in an empty storage unit, realizing he has absolutely nothing left."
