Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
M axim Fairchild couldn’t sleep. Not that it surprised him. Men like him rarely slept.
He sat up in bed, exhaling sharply. The weight of his empire pressed down on his chest, heavier than usual. Hilton was dead. But pieces of him were found. He should have been mulch.
Maxim shouldn’t have trusted the people he paid to complete the job. Noah Kandor was still breathing. He didn’t have leverage over him. And he likely had Hilton’s records.
Maxim had no idea if Hilton had passed on the real information. He needed to know. Silence filled the mansion as he slid out of bed, slipping on his robe. His bare feet made no sound as he moved through the house. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. He knew the way.
Down the hall. Past the grand staircase to his study.
The heavy oak doors groaned slightly as he pushed them open. The air smelled like old books, leather, and expensive bourbon. His sanctuary. His war room.
Maxim moved toward the massive desk, his fingers brushing the smooth mahogany.
Behind it, a steel safe was embedded in the wall, hidden behind an unassuming bookshelf.
He pressed his palm against a small panel, let the biometric scanner confirm his identity.
A faint click.
The shelf shifted, revealing the heavy safe door. He spun the dial, entering the combination from muscle memory. Another click. The door swung open.
Inside, neatly stacked documents, bundles of cash, and weapons sat in organized compartments. But Maxim reached for only one thing. His ledger. A simple black leather book, its pages holding his entire empire in handwritten ink. Not because he didn’t trust digital records—he did. But this? This was his truth.
Maxim closed the safe and moved back to his desk, setting the book down in front of him. He flipped it open. Names. Dates. Amounts. Every deal. Every bribe. Every favor owed and every debt collected. The names on the back pages were growing. It listed every person he had leverage over and every person when leverage failed. He stared at the last name on the failure list—Robert Hilton.
Hilton had been the only one who knew the full scope of the operation. And now, Hilton was dead. He betrayed him. He shared the information with someone else, wanting more money than Maxim was paying him. It was true, there was no honor among thieves. And when that person failed to come through, he went to the U.S. Attorney’s office and Noah Kandor.
Maxim’s fingers tightened around the edge of the book. Did Hilton pass on the truth before he died? Had Kandor figured out the data buried inside? Did he know what Maxim had done to achieve his goals?
A muscle ticked in his jaw. If Kandor knew what was buried in those records, then Maxim needed more leverage. Noah Kandor could be his greatest problem.
Maxim exhaled, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temples. He needed to find something. Some way to control Kandor. And there was his line in the sand. He had done a lot of things to get where he was. But he didn’t kill cops.
It wasn’t out of morality—he had none of that left. It was practicality. Cops were messy deaths. They made people look too closely. And yet, someone had tried to kill Kandor and his lawyer. Someone made that choice. And it wasn’t him.
His fingers drummed against the desk. His people were searching. Digging.
Soon, he would have his answer. And when he did? Whoever crossed that line would regret it. Because Maxim Fairchild didn’t clean up other people’s mistakes. He buried them.
A faint knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in," he called, his voice steady despite the tension simmering beneath the surface.
The door opened to reveal Thomas Gale, his head of security, flanked by another guard, Luke Andrews. A recent promotion. Both men were tall, imposing, their presence a stark reminder of the world Maxim had meticulously built.
"Good morning, Mr. Fairchild," Luke greeted him, his tone clipped but respectful.
Maxim nodded. "Luke. Thomas. What brings you here this early?"
Luke stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Boss, the storm. I think it might be best to cancel your schedule today.”
Maxim studied him for a moment, then gestured toward the door. "Fine. Join me in the dining room. I’ll need coffee to deal with my wife. She thinks we should just use one of my big trucks to drive to her mother’s.” He chuckled.
Both men nodded sympathetically. The two men stepped back, and Maxim stood, stretching his stiff shoulders. On his way out, he paused by the large windows that overlooked the estate. The snow was falling heavier now, the kind of relentless storm that blanketed the roads and kept even the hardiest travelers indoors.
He frowned, his mind drifting to his children. Last night, they begged him to take them to visit their grandmother in town. He’d promised to decide in the morning, but the weather made the choice for him. The children would have to wait. Perhaps that was for the best. His mother-in-law always asked too many questions, her probing nature a liability at a time like this.
Maxim left the study and headed toward the dining room, his thoughts returning to his worries. If his other situation wasn't handled carefully, it could all come crashing down. As the storm outside deepened, so too did the one brewing inside his carefully constructed world.
* * *
The hospital felt heavier as the night dragged on, as if the walls themselves knew this was the last time Ruth would be inside them.
The plan was finalized. Everyone had their jobs. Now all that was left was to execute it.
Ruth drifted in and out of sleep, her fingers loosely curled around Noah’s hand. She was caught in that hazy space between wakefulness and unconsciousness, where thoughts were fragmented and disjointed.
Somewhere in the fog, she knew she should have answers. But the more she searched for them, the more they slipped away.
Noah.
She knew his name. Knew the deep timbre of his voice, the steady warmth of his hand in hers.
But who was he to her?
She didn’t know. Not exactly.
A friend? No—too much intensity in the way he spoke to her.
Family? No—there was something deeper, something heavier in his presence.
Was he her bodyguard? That didn’t feel quite right either, though she knew without question that he was protecting her.
Her boyfriend? Her breath caught slightly at the thought, but something about it felt wrong—or maybe just uncertain. She had no memory of kisses, no flash of whispered confessions, but he felt important.
He felt safe.
And yet… she could sense something unspoken, a thread of pain and desperation woven into the way he held on to her, the way he wouldn’t let go.
Her mind tried to connect the dots, but there were too many missing pieces.
Still, one thing remained clear.
Whatever they were, whatever they had been, she trusted him.
Even if she didn’t remember why.
* * *
Paul leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching everything. “Are you going to sleep at all?”
Noah ignored him.
Paul sighed. “Didn’t think so.”
He pushed off the counter, rubbing the exhaustion from his face. “We’ll have to time this perfectly. If we wait too long, people are going to start waking up. The hospital gets busiest around five a.m.”
Noah knew that already. He had been watching the hospital’s movement patterns for the past two days. “Then we leave at four.”
Paul nodded. “That gives us four hours.” He glanced at Ruth.
“You think she can make it that long?” Noah looked down at her.
Her face was paler than it was earlier. She was holding on, but barely. They were running out of time.
“She has to,” Paul said.
By 3:30 a.m., everything was ready. The medical van was in place. Evan had secured the vehicle in the loading dock, away from prying eyes. Brad had patrols positioned around the hospital, making sure no one was lurking where they shouldn’t be. Alex and Tristan had doctored Ruth’s hospital records, ensuring it would take at least a day before anyone realized she was gone.
The tension in the air was electric. Charlotte and Izzy were the last to arrive. Charlotte’s gaze immediately flicked to Ruth, her jaw tight as she took in how weak she looked. “She’s not well enough for this.”
Noah expected her to argue. To fight him. Instead, she turned to Tristan. “How much time do they really have?”
Tristan exhaled. “If we’re lucky? Twelve hours before someone starts digging.”
Charlotte nodded, her eyes hard with determination. “Then let’s make them count.”
Noah hated moving her. Even with Paul, James and Tristan stabilizing her, even with the wheelchair padded and the oxygen in place, it felt like a betrayal to shift her from the safety of the hospital bed.
Ruth barely stirred as they lifted her. She was too out of it.
Noah gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted. She was so damn fragile. But this was the only way.
Charlotte and Izzy watched from the shadows as Noah and Paul wheeled Ruth down the back corridor, flanked by Tristan and James. Noah’s pulse hammered in his ears. One wrong move, one wrong turn, and this would all be over.
They reached the loading dock, where the van was waiting. Evan was behind the wheel.
“Go,” Brad said. “Now.”
Paul helped Noah lift Ruth into the back. She barely reacted. That scared Noah more than he wanted to admit. Paul climbed in next to her, pressing a hand to her wrist. Her pulse was still steady. Weak, but steady. He secured the medical equipment while Evan put the van in motion. They were gone. No turning back now.
Evan drove them away from the hospital, out into the heavy snow. A slow mile out, he pulled to the side of the road, and Noah took the wheel. Brad sat in his truck, waiting for Evan. Noah checked the mirrors on a swivel. Soon, all that remained in his sight was a gray, snowy haze.
The first hour was silent. Paul monitored her vitals. “She’s stable, but she’s running on fumes.” He swallowed hard. “How long until we’re there?”
Noah glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “Three more hours without this blizzard. We’ll see.”
Halfway there, Ruth stirred. She frowned slightly, her eyelids fluttering. She looked… , lost. “Where…?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Noah looked in the mirror. “It’s okay. We’re taking you somewhere safe.”
She frowned deeper. “Safe?”
“Yes.”
She went quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, “Are you taking me home?”
Noah’s chest tightened painfully. Paul’s head snapped up at that. His sharp eyes flicked to Noah, catching everything.
Noah swallowed hard. “Not home, Rae. But somewhere close to it.”
Ruth sighed, barely conscious again.
“Just rest,” he murmured.
Noah didn’t look at his brother. Didn’t need to. Paul had already seen everything he needed to.
By the time they reached Sparrow Ridge Road, the sky had lightened. Noah slowed the van, pulling onto the hidden gravel driveway. The house was secluded but far from primitive. Solar panels lined the roof. A stone chimney rose against the tree line. There was no visible road leading in, only a barely-there path. Noah watched the tire tracks disappear in the blowing snow. It was perfect.
Paul and Noah worked together to get Ruth out of the van. She barely stirred.
Paul shot his brother a sharp look. “She’s worse than before.”
Noah clenched his jaw. He knew.
Paul sighed heavily. “We need to get her inside. Now.”
Noah had expected the house to be barebones, but it wasn’t. The van was well-stocked. Food. Medical supplies. Extra blankets. Everything they could need.
Noah and Paul got Ruth to one of the bedrooms. They set her down gently, adjusting the blankets, making sure the oxygen was flowing. Noah sat beside her.
“I’ll start a fire, and I’ll make you something to eat.” Paul exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “She needs real rest. If we’re lucky, she’ll bounce back in a few days.”
Noah nodded, his eyes never leaving Ruth.
Paul sighed. “If we’re not lucky… we’re in trouble.”
Noah knew that too. But for now, they had made it. And he wasn’t letting go of her.