Chapter 8 - The Woman in the Security Footage
We found the first clue inside a hospital elevator.
Not physically.
On grainy security footage obtained through Griffin's attorney.
At 10:42 a.m., two people wearing federal identification badges entered Elena Ward's hospital room.
At 10:49, they emerged with Elena seated in a wheelchair.
At 10:53, they entered the service elevator.
At 10:54, the camera feed went black.
"Convenient," I muttered.
Griffin stood behind my chair.
"Look at the woman on the left."
I replayed the footage.
A blonde woman wearing a navy coat walked beside Elena.
Her face remained partially concealed.
Something about her posture seemed familiar.
Then she reached up to adjust her hair.
I froze.
"Stop."
Marco paused the video.
"Zoom in."
The image blurred slightly.
But the bracelet on her wrist was unmistakable.
A delicate silver chain with a tiny star-shaped charm.
I knew that bracelet.
I had bought it as a birthday gift three years earlier.
For Sarah.
My chest tightened.
"No."
Griffin looked at me.
"What is it?"
"That's Sarah."
Nobody spoke.
I played the video again.
The woman turned.
The angle briefly revealed her face.
Sarah Mitchell.
My best friend.
My assistant.
The person who had cried in my arms after apparently escaping Adrian's men outside the townhouse.
I stood so abruptly that the chair tipped backward.
"She was with me yesterday."
Griffin reached for his phone.
"Marco, locate her."
I backed away.
"No. There has to be an explanation."
"Grace—"
"She wouldn't do this."
He approached carefully.
"We don't know what she was doing there."
I grabbed my phone, now fully charged, and dialed Sarah.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Then a message arrived.
SARAH: Grace, please don't believe whatever Griffin shows you. I'm in trouble. I need to speak to you alone.
I stared at the screen.
Another message.
I didn't have a choice.
My eyes filled.
"What did she do?"
Griffin read the message.
"Ask her where she is."
I typed.
Where are you?
Her answer appeared almost immediately.
Grand Central. Lower concourse. Come alone. Please.
Griffin shook his head.
"No."
"She knows something."
"Then she can tell us over the phone."
"She's frightened."
"She's also possibly compromised."
I looked up sharply.
"She's my friend."
"And you're my responsibility."
The words landed between us.
I stepped closer.
"I'm not a possession, Griffin."
His expression changed.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then trust me to make a decision."
He was silent.
Finally, he nodded.
"You're right."
I expected an argument.
Instead, he retrieved a small device from his desk.
"Take this. Emergency transmitter. Press it if something happens."
I hesitated.
"And you're letting me go?"
"I'm respecting your decision. Marco can remain nearby without approaching unless you request help."
For the first time, I understood the difference between a man who wanted control and a man struggling to protect someone without taking away her freedom.
An hour later, I entered Grand Central Terminal.
Travelers hurried beneath the enormous ceiling.
I found Sarah standing beside a closed coffee kiosk.
She looked terrible.
Her eyes were swollen.
Her hands trembled.
"Sarah."
She turned.
Then she began crying.
"I'm so sorry."
I stopped several feet away.
"Were you at St. Catherine's Hospital?"
She nodded.
"Did you help take Elena?"
"Yes."
My stomach dropped.
"Why?"
Sarah pulled a photograph from her pocket.
A teenage boy smiled at the camera beside a basketball hoop.
"My brother, Ethan."
I recognized him.
He was seventeen.
Sarah had practically raised him after their parents died.
"What happened?"
"Adrian has him."
My anger dissolved into horror.
"He threatened to hurt Ethan unless I cooperated."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because he said he'd know."
She wiped her cheeks.
"I didn't know they were planning to kill you. Grace, I swear. They told me they only wanted your schedule. Then the hotel caught fire, and I realized—"
Her voice broke.
I moved closer.
"Sarah, listen. We can help Ethan."
She shook her head.
"Not if Adrian gets what he wants."
"What does he want?"
She looked around.
Then she leaned toward me.
"The access code."
"To what?"
"The Holloway Trust."
My heart began pounding.
"How does Adrian know about that?"
Sarah reached into her coat and handed me a sealed envelope.
"Whitmore gave me this."
Inside was an old photograph.
My father sat at a desk, smiling.
On the back, in his handwriting, was a sentence.
Grace, remember where we watched the stars.
My eyes widened.
Our old house.
My childhood bedroom had glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.
My father used to sit beside me at night and tell stories about constellations.
Then I remembered something else.
He had built a little wooden box shaped like a lighthouse.
Inside, he kept my childhood treasures.
And after his death, my mother had placed it in storage.
"Grace?"
I looked at Sarah.
"We have to find Ethan."
She nodded desperately.
Then her eyes moved over my shoulder.
Her expression transformed into pure terror.
"Don't turn around."
I felt someone stop behind me.
A familiar male voice spoke.
"Hello, Grace."
Michael Bennett.
My former colleague.
May you like
He smiled as though we'd encountered each other in the office cafeteria.
"Mr. Whitmore would like a word."
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