Chapter 3 - The Trap in My Apartment
I should have listened.
I didn’t.
At two in the morning, I left Adrian’s townhouse through the service entrance.
Mateo would’ve stopped me if he’d been awake.
Adrian definitely would have.
But that laptop held the only proof that Preston Hale had assaulted me.
It might also hold something connected to my father.
I couldn’t walk away.
My apartment building was quiet.
Too quiet.
I climbed the stairs.
My door was open.
I froze.
A voice behind me said, “You really are stubborn.”
I spun.
Adrian stood in the hallway.
I exhaled sharply.
“Are you following me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s creepy.”
“Apparently necessary.”
Two of his men moved past us.
Adrian looked at the broken lock.
“You could’ve gotten killed.”
“I needed the laptop.”
“You needed patience.”
“I’ve never been able to afford that.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said, “Stay behind me.”
Inside, drawers had been emptied.
Furniture overturned.
Mateo’s school papers covered the floor.
I walked toward my bedroom.
Adrian caught my wrist.
“Behind me.”
“Stop grabbing me.”
“Then stop walking ahead of armed men.”
I looked at him.
“Fair.”
We found the laptop beneath a loose floorboard.
I had hidden it there after the break-in.
Adrian stared.
“You hid it?”
“I’m poor, not stupid.”
“Those aren’t opposites.”
We took it back to the townhouse.
At three-thirty, Adrian’s tech specialist opened the video.
The footage showed Preston lifting the bottle.
Throwing it.
And looking directly at me.
Then someone else appeared in frame.
A man near the balcony.
Gray suit.
Silver tie.
Mateo leaned closer.
“Who’s that?”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“Judge Warren Hale.”
Preston’s father.
I looked at him.
“What is he doing?”
The judge spoke to Preston seconds before the bottle was thrown.
Then he pointed.
At me.
My stomach dropped.
“He told him to do it.”
Adrian nodded.
“Looks that way.”
“Why?”
His tech clicked through another file.
A hidden folder appeared.
I stared.
“What is that?”
“Encrypted documents.”
“On my laptop?”
“No.”
He opened the folder.
“Embedded in the gala file.”
Someone had added data before Rebecca sent it.
Adrian looked at the screen.
“You were carrying evidence without knowing it.”
The files contained bank transfers.
Property records.
Payments to city inspectors.
Judicial favors.
Names.
Dozens of them.
Then I saw one that made my chest tighten.
ORTIZ, RAFAEL.
My father.
“No.”
I scrolled.
A payment of fifty thousand dollars.
I stood.
“He wasn’t corrupt.”
Adrian said nothing.
“He wasn’t.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why is his name there?”
Mateo stared at the screen.
“Maybe they paid him.”
“No.”
I kept scrolling.
A second entry appeared.
PAYMENT REJECTED.
Then another.
WITNESS RISK.
I couldn’t breathe.
Adrian shut the laptop.
“That’s enough.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“I said no.”
I opened it again.
The final line read:
REMOVE LIABILITY.
My hands began shaking.
Mateo whispered, “They killed Dad.”
I couldn’t answer.
Adrian said, “We don’t know that yet.”
“Yes, we do.”
“No. We suspect it.”
I turned on him.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew before you brought me here.”
“I didn’t have proof.”
“You should have told me.”
“And what would you have done?”
“This.”
“What?”
I slammed the laptop shut.
“Gone after them.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t get to decide what truth I can handle.”
He stepped closer.
“No. But I do get to decide whether I hand someone a loaded gun while they’re angry.”
“Is that how you see me?”
“I see someone who has spent two years surviving without help.”
His voice lowered.
“And someone who is very close to deciding survival isn’t enough.”
I looked away.
Mateo stood.
“I want them arrested.”
Adrian nodded.
“So do I.”
I turned back.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
“Then what do you usually do?”
One of Adrian’s men shifted uncomfortably.
Adrian answered calmly.
“Things differently.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning tonight, we do this your way.”
“My way?”
“Police. Prosecutors. Evidence.”
I almost laughed.
“Judge Hale owns half the people who would investigate him.”
Adrian’s eyes were cold.
“Not all of them.”
He pulled out his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“A federal prosecutor who hates me.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Because if he hates me, he can’t be accused of helping me.”
He made the call.
At six in the morning, Assistant U.S. Attorney Marcus Reed walked into the townhouse with two federal agents.
He looked at Adrian.
“I was hoping never to see you again.”
Adrian gestured toward me.
“Disappointment builds character.”
Reed looked at me.
“You’re Lena Ortiz?”
“Yes.”
He opened the laptop.
For twenty minutes, nobody spoke.
Then he closed it.
“This can bring down half a network.”
I asked, “Can it prove what happened to my father?”
Reed looked at me.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe isn’t enough.”
“No.”
He leaned forward.
“But someone may know the rest.”
“Who?”
Reed looked at Adrian.
May you like
Adrian answered.
“Preston Hale.”
