Chapter 28
Axel
The SUV pulls into a rest stop twenty minutes outside Portland, the engine cutting off with a quiet rumble. I scan the empty parking lot, noting the single car tucked in the far corner, a nondescript gray sedan I recognize immediately as Reeves' rental.
"Wait here," I tell Sadie, keeping my voice calm despite my unease. "Security stays with you and Poppy. I'll bring him over."
She nods, eyes never leaving Poppy. The baby has fallen asleep again, lulled by the motion of the car, completely unaware of the storm gathering around her.
I step out into the thin drizzle, pulling my jacket collar up against the chill. Reeves emerges from his car when he sees me, tucking something under his arm as he approaches. His face, usually a professional mask of neutrality, looks grim.
"That bad?" I ask when we're close enough to speak without raising our voices.
He glances over my shoulder at the SUV with its dark windows. "Worse than we thought. Much worse."
"Show me."
"Not here." He nods toward the SUV. "She needs to see this too."
I lead him back, signaling to the security team that he's cleared. When I open the door, Sadie's eyes lock immediately on the leather portfolio Reeves carries, her body tensing visibly.
"This is Michael Reeves," I say, sliding in beside her as Reeves takes the seat opposite. "The investigator I told you about."
Reeves nods to Sadie, his manner respectful but direct. "Ms. Calloway. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."
"What did you find?" Her voice is steady, but I can see her hands trembling where they rest protectively near Poppy.
Reeves opens the portfolio and removes a sealed envelope.
"First, the basics. Elliot's full name is Elliot James Whitcomb. Forty-two years old. Currently operates under at least three additional identities that I've confirmed."
He passes over documents—driver's licenses, passports, each with Elliot's face but different names.
"He's not just a financial advisor with boundary issues. He's a professional con man with a very specific pattern."
Sadie's breathing quickens as she looks at the IDs. I let my knuckles brush the edge of her thigh, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. I want to pull her closer, feel her pulse under my palm, but I hold steady. She’ll reach for me if she needs more.
For now, the restraint is its own brutal satisfaction.
Reeves continues, his voice clinically detached.
"He targets women with recent inheritances or financial windfalls. Marries them, convinces them to combine assets, then systematically drains everything before disappearing. You're the seventh in the last twelve years."
"Seventh?" Sadie whispers.
"The only one who got away before he finished." Reeves removes several photographs from the envelope. Women, all with similar features to Sadie, dark hair, delicate build. All smiling beside Elliot in wedding photos.
"Most lost everything. Two had mental breakdowns afterward. One committed suicide."
My jaw clenches so tight I can feel my teeth grinding. I force my breathing to remain even, my posture relaxed, though every muscle in my body screams to find Elliot and make him pay.
"That's not all." Reeves hesitates, glancing at Poppy before continuing more quietly.
"There's evidence he's escalating. The last woman, Lisa Carrington, disappeared three months ago. Police suspect foul play—but no body's been found."
He passes over a police report, the words "missing person" and "person of interest" highlighted in yellow. I scan it quickly, everything in me going cold at the detective's notes about a "controlling husband" and "suspicious financial activity" before the disappearance.
"Lisa had a two-year-old daughter," Reeves says, his voice dropping even lower. "Child's missing too."
Sadie makes a small, wounded sound. Her hand finds mine, gripping with desperate strength.
"There's more." Reeves pulls out a small digital recorder. "I managed to place some surveillance equipment in Elliot's hotel room yesterday. This was recorded last night."
He presses play, and Elliot's voice fills the car, clear and chilling.
"Everything's arranged. Once the custody hearing's done, we take the kid and disappear. New identities are ready. Brazil first, then we'll see."
A second male voice responds, unfamiliar to me. "What about the mother?"
A pause, then Elliot's cold laugh. "She won't be a problem anymore."
Reeves stops the recording. The silence in the car is absolute except for Poppy's soft breathing.
"He's planning to kill me," Sadie says flatly, her face drained of color.
"And take Poppy out of the country," I add, fury building until I can barely breathe. "With fake documents."
Reeves nods grimly. "There's a second man involved. I'm still working on identifying him. But they're moving fast. The plan is clearly already in motion."
"The hearing is a trap," Sadie whispers.
"Yes." Reeves pulls out one final document, a court order I don't immediately recognize.
"He's already filed for emergency custody, claiming you're mentally unstable and a flight risk. He's got a corrupt judge in his pocket. The moment you show up for that hearing tomorrow, you'll be detained while he walks out with Poppy."
I stare at the court order, dated yesterday, my mind racing. The legal system, the very thing I was counting on to protect them, has already been compromised.
"We need to go to the FBI," Sadie says, her voice surprisingly steady. "With the recording, the evidence of fraud."
"That takes time," Reeves interrupts. "Time you don't have. The hearing is scheduled for nine a.m. tomorrow—but based on what I've found, Elliot's planning to make a move before then."
Something clicks into place, a cold, clarifying anger replacing the hot fury of moments before. My mind clicks through options with mechanical precision, discarding each legal avenue as too slow, too uncertain.
"We'll handle it from here," I tell Reeves, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "Send everything to my secure email. And keep tracking Elliot's movements."
Reeves gives me a long, assessing look. "Be careful. This guy's dangerous."
"So am I," I reply, and I mean it in a way I never have before.
After Reeves leaves, the SUV remains parked, rain pattering against the roof. Sadie sits motionless beside me, her face unreadable as she stares at the evidence spread across her lap.
"We're not going to the hotel," I say finally, my decision crystallizing. "And we're not going to court."
She looks up, eyes sharp despite her fear. "What are we doing?"
I take a deep breath, organizing my thoughts.
"The legal system is compromised. Elliot's already bought off a judge. Even with all this evidence, we could lose Poppy while the wheels of justice grind slowly forward."
"I know," she whispers.
"So we change the game." I turn to face her fully. "We go to Elliot directly. Tonight. With everything we have."
Her eyes widen. "What do you mean?"
"I mean we confront him. With the recordings. The evidence of fraud. The missing woman. Everything." My voice hardens.
"We make it clear that if anything happens to you or Poppy, if he doesn't sign away all parental rights immediately, every bit of evidence goes to the FBI, the SEC, Interpol—and every news outlet in the country."
"He'll never agree."
"He will when he understands the alternative." I lean closer, making sure she hears every word.
"Men like Elliot survive by staying in shadows. By controlling the narrative. We're going to rip that control away and give him exactly one chance to walk away clean."
"And if he refuses?"
"Then I destroy him." The words come out cold, precise. "Not through courts. Not through judges. Through information. Through exposure. Through fear."
I watch her process this, see the conflict in her eyes, the mother who wants safety battling with the woman who's been running for too long.
"This isn't just my decision," I add, softening my tone. "This is your life. Your daughter. Your choice."
She looks down at Poppy, sleeping peacefully despite everything. When she raises her eyes to mine again, there's a steely resolve I haven't seen before.
"Take me to him."
Relief and determination surge through me. I tap on the partition, signaling our driver.
"Change of plans," I tell him when the window slides down. "We need Elliot Whitcomb's current location."
The driver nods, already reaching for his secure phone to contact our team. Within minutes, he has what we need.
"The Sentinel Hotel," he reports. "Downtown Portland. He's in a meeting right now but expected back by six."
Perfect. That gives us time to prepare, to set the stage. I pull out my phone, sending rapid-fire texts to our security team with updated instructions.
"What's the plan?" Sadie asks, gathering the evidence back into the folder with steady hands.
"We go in smart. Controlled environment. Security team in place." I outline the basics as they form in my mind.
"We'll book the suite adjacent to his. Security will sweep it for surveillance devices, secure all exits. We'll have eyes on Elliot from the moment he returns to the hotel."
She nods, following my logic. "And then?"
"Then we invite him over for a conversation he can't refuse." I reach for her hand, needing her to understand exactly what I'm proposing. "Sadie, this gets ugly from here. Are you absolutely sure?"
Her fingers tighten around mine, her gaze unwavering. "I've spent two years running from him. I'm done running."
I signal the driver to proceed, feeling a grim satisfaction settle in my chest. The plan forming in my mind isn't pretty, isn't noble, but it's effective. And right now, effective is all that matters.
As the SUV pulls back onto the highway toward Portland, I watch the rain streaking across the windows, obscuring the landscape beyond. In just a few hours, this will be over. One way or another, Elliot Whitcomb's reign of terror ends tonight.