PART 12 — The Night Garrick Ran
Marcus remained in custody.
His identification had been copied.
The escape had been arranged long before Sunday dinner.
Garrick knew that if the financial scheme collapsed, he might need to disappear.
Police searched airports, train stations, private marinas, and Ashford-owned properties.
Sienna was moved to a secure residence.
She refused to hide forever.
“I’ve spent three years living behind locked doors,” she said. “I’m not letting him decide where I live now.”
Still, she agreed to remain under protection until Garrick was captured.
That evening, a package arrived at the district attorney’s office.
Inside was Sienna’s passport.
A note had been written across the cover.
Come alone, or your mother loses everything.
Fletcher wanted the package analyzed.
Sienna recognized the handwriting.
“It’s Garrick.”
A second message arrived on her new phone.
It contained a photograph of me leaving the courthouse.
Someone had taken it less than ten minutes earlier.
Garrick was watching.
Police placed me under protection.
I objected.
Fletcher ignored me.
“You are not the investigator on this case, Victoria.”
“I know how men like Garrick think.”
“And that makes you a target.”
At midnight, Sienna’s protective detail received an order to relocate her.
The message appeared to come from Fletcher’s office.
Two uniformed officers arrived in an unmarked vehicle.
Their badges scanned correctly.
Their paperwork matched the case number.
Sienna entered the car.
Ten minutes later, Fletcher called the secure residence.
He had issued no relocation order.
By then, the vehicle was already outside the city.
Sienna sat in the back seat, watching streetlights disappear behind them.
The driver never spoke.
The second man kept one hand inside his jacket.
Sienna looked at the dashboard.
A small crack ran across the police radio.
There was no active dispatch channel.
The badges were real.
The men were not.
She lowered her injured arm and quietly activated the emergency sharing feature Dr. Chen had installed on her medical monitoring device.
A location signal reached my phone.
Then a message appeared from Sienna.
Not words.
Only three numbers.
2:13.
The time she used to call me whenever she needed help as a child.
I showed the signal to Fletcher.
The vehicle was moving toward a private airfield owned by an Ashford subsidiary.
But as police units began closing in, Sienna’s signal suddenly stopped.
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The final location came from the middle of an abandoned industrial complex.
And satellite footage showed three identical vehicles leaving in different directions.
