Chapter 11 - The Phantom Threat
An hour later, the sun fully broke over the blood-stained lawns of the Prescott estate. Federal transport vans idled in the driveway, hauling away the handcuffed members of the family who once believed they were untouchable. Margaret Prescott glared at me with pure venom as she was shoved into the back of a black cruiser, her empire completely in ruins.
I stood by my vehicle, my phone clutched tightly in my hand. Martin was coordinating the secure transport of the recovered data drives to a classified federal bunker in Washington.
Just as I turned to open my car door, my phone buzzed violently in my palm. It wasn't a phone call this time. It was an encrypted multimedia message from an unknown, untraceable sender.
I tapped the screen.
The file opened to a live, high-definition video feed streaming from inside the safehouse where Emily was currently being guarded by our trusted military escort.
On the screen, two masked operatives dressed in black tactical gear stood quietly in the corner of my daughter’s secure hospital room. Emily was still asleep, completely unaware, resting peacefully under heavy sedation. One of the masked men slowly raised a silenced pistol, pointing the barrel directly toward the pillow where my daughter lay.
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Beneath the video, a single line of text flashed coldly on my screen:
“You have twelve hours to hand over the micro SD card and wipe every copy from existence. Otherwise, the next sound you hear will be the last one your daughter ever makes.”
