9. Seventy Feet
Chapter nine
Seventy Feet
The cheap motel room smelled of industrial carpet cleaner and stale ozone. I looked through the plastic blinds at the city traffic, waiting for the knock on the door.
Outside, the late afternoon sky was a flat, bruised gray, bleeding into the neon glow of streetlights and storefronts.
The jarring noise of the highway—the hiss of tires on wet asphalt and the wail of distant sirens—felt entirely foreign after two months of mountain silence.
I traced a finger along the dusty edge of a slat, feeling a strange, hollow detachment.
I was back in the world Chase thought he owned, waiting to tear it down.
A sharp, authoritative knock cut through the hum of the motel.
Holt stood up from the edge of the sagging mattress, where he had been quietly watching Esther sleep in her portable bassinet. He crossed the stained carpet and opened the door.
Renata Vance stepped inside. She brought the ruthless, expensive polish of her corporate law firm directly into the dingy room.
Dressed in a structured black blazer with her asymmetrical silver bob perfectly in place, she carried a slim leather briefcase in one hand and a heavy zippered garment bag in the other.
She offered Holt a curt nod and then turned her calculating gaze to me. “It’s done. The trap is set.”
Renata set the garment bag on the lone armchair and carried the briefcase to the cheap laminate table near the mini-fridge. The harsh hum of the fridge’s compressor vibrated through the floorboards, briefly cut by the sharp snap of the briefcase latches opening.
She withdrew a thick stack of legal documents and spread them across the faux-wood surface.
“The district attorney signed the warrants an hour ago,” Renata said, pointing to a blue-backed file. “I handed the digital file directly to his chief investigator this morning, bypassing the local precinct entirely to avoid leaks. Plainclothes units are en route to the country club right now.”
I walked over to the table, looking down at the paperwork. “Will they get there before he finishes his speech?”
“They are boxing in the exits as we speak,” Renata said, pulling a silver pen from her breast pocket.
“I am going to hijack the projector feed and play the footage right as they move in. We let Chase put on his show. We let him soak in the sympathy of the room. And then we pull the rug out from under him. Once they make the arrest and he is in handcuffs, I serve him with this.”
She tapped a second, thicker stack of paper. The civil asset freeze.
I picked up the pen. The dry scratch of the ballpoint tip against the thick legal paper felt unnaturally loud as I signed my name to the final affidavits. I set the plastic bag containing my soot-stained clothes on top of the briefcase. “For the investigators,” I said.
Renata nodded. “It will be logged into evidence tonight.”
I looked at my signature. I felt no fear, no hesitation. A detached calm had settled over me. I was simply finishing the job, signing the exact documents that would sever my husband’s access to everything.
“He’ll look for an exit the second the video plays,” Holt said, stepping up behind me. He crossed his arms, working through the logistics of a crowded ballroom. “If he panics, he won’t go for the front doors. He’ll go for the service corridors. The kitchen doors.”
“I have two uniformed officers stationed at the loading dock and another blocking the catering exit,” Renata said, sliding the signed papers back into her briefcase. “He is completely cornered. There is no route out of that building that doesn’t end in the back of a squad car.”
“Good,” I said, putting the pen down.
Renata closed the briefcase and gestured toward the armchair. “I brought the clothes you asked for. We have an hour before he takes the stage for the foundation announcement.”
I walked over to the chair and unzipped the garment bag. Inside hung the ‘armor’ I had requested.
I took the bag into the small, sterile bathroom and shut the door.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare across the mirror.
I stripped off the oversized flannel shirt and the worn maternity sweatpants I had lived in for the last two months.
I folded them carefully and set them on the edge of the sink, finally shedding my mountain disguise.
I reached into the garment bag.
The cold, smooth slide of the white silk blouse against my skin was a shock to my senses after weeks of rough canvas and wool.
I buttoned it up, the fabric falling perfectly over my postpartum frame.
Next came the sharply tailored slate-gray suit.
I slid the blazer on, straightening my spine against the stiff fabric.
I sat on the edge of the bathtub and slipped my feet into the polished black heels Renata had brought. The tight, unfamiliar pinch of the leather dug into my arches, a sharp reminder of the physical toll my body had just endured. I ignored it.
I stood in front of the mirror and brushed my hair out, drawing it back until the skin went taut and securing it into a severe, immaculate knot at the base of my neck.
I applied a minimal layer of makeup, just enough to conceal the raw strain of the mountain, leaving my features looking sharp and hollowed out.
I stepped out of the bathroom.
Holt and Renata turned to look at me. The quiet energy in the motel room changed.
“How does it look?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
Renata offered a slow, deliberate nod. “Like you own the building.”
Holt stared at me, his eyes traveling from the polished heels to the severe knot in my hair.
The grounded, quiet mountain man I had relied on for the last two months seemed to tense, his expression hardening as he took in the transformation.
When he spoke, his voice was low and completely flat. “He won’t know what hit him.”
“That’s the point,” I said.
I walked over to the bassinet. Esther was awake, her dark eyes slowly blinking at the harsh motel lights.
I strapped the high-end, structured black baby carrier securely over my silk blouse, leaving the blazer open to frame it.
Then, I picked her up and settled her carefully into the harness, ensuring she was supported.
The distinct click of the carrier buckles locking into place echoed in the quiet room.
I looked at Holt. “We take his narrative away the second he feels safe.”
Twenty minutes later, Holt navigated the city traffic with the same steady, unflinching focus he used on the steep logging trails, ignoring the chaos around us.
The blaring horns and neon lights of the downtown corridor bled through the truck windows.
I sat in the passenger seat, watching the upscale neighborhoods roll by.
I recognized these streets. I had driven them to my prenatal appointments.
I had walked them with Sienna when she wanted me to buy her expensive lunches. They belonged to a previous lifetime.
I held Renata’s tablet in my lap, the screen casting a pale blue glow over Esther’s sleeping head.
I reviewed the floor plan of the country club ballroom, studying the layout of the extravagant venue.
Front entrance, valet stand, marble foyer, carved mahogany double doors.
The stage was set at the far north end of the room, flanked by two massive projection screens.
I needed to cover seventy feet of open floor before I reached the stage. Seventy feet of high-society peers, board members, and investors.
I pressed my back firmly into the leather seat. To force down the sudden rush of nerves, I focused on my breathing in a deliberate four-count cycle.
The rhythmic thump-thump of the truck’s tires rolling over the highway expansion joints filled the silence.
The glare of the passing streetlights washed over Holt’s face, illuminating his permanent scruff and highlighting the stark contrast he made against these wealthy streets.
The cab of the truck smelled strongly of leather mixed with the clean, powdery scent of Esther.
Holt reached across the center console. He didn’t say a word. He simply rested his hand on my knee.
The warmth of his touch cut through my rising panic. It was a steadying force, a reminder that I wasn’t doing this alone. I had backup.
“You dictate the pace in that room,” Holt said, keeping his eyes on the road, though his thumb traced a slow line over the fabric of my suit pants. “If it gets too chaotic or if you need to walk out, you give me the signal and we walk out. No arguments.”
“I’m not walking out,” I said, staring through the windshield at the looming skyline. “I am not leaving that building until he is in handcuffs.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Holt promised, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he pulled his hand back to the steering wheel. “Just say the word.”
“I’ve got the physical SD card in my pocket as backup,” I said, checking the zipper on my blazer. “Renata is waiting at the venue. She just needs to get into the tech booth.”
“Then let’s go collect.”
Holt pulled up to the venue, parking his mud-splattered truck directly in front of the country club’s grand entrance, ignoring the designated lanes. We didn’t belong in this lineup. We were flanked by a line of pristine Mercedes and Lexuses, the engines purring quietly in the cold night air.
I opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. The heels clicked sharply against the concrete.
Renata met us at the valet stand. She was standing next to a confused, intimidated valet attendant who was staring nervously at Holt’s massive vehicle. Renata held up a hand, silencing the attendant before he could ask for the keys. Then she turned to us.
“He’s on stage,” Renata said, speaking at a hushed, rapid clip. “The dinner portion just wrapped up. He is making the foundation announcement right now.”
I adjusted the carrier on my chest, making sure Esther was secure. “Is Sienna up there with him?”
“Right by his side,” Renata confirmed, turning on her heel and leading us toward the entrance. “Playing the ‘supportive, grieving partner’. The crowd is eating it up.”
We walked past the valet staff and stepped through the glass entry doors into the grand marble foyer.
The air inside was suffocatingly warm, heavy with the cloying scent of expensive, imported floral arrangements.
The opulent crystal chandeliers overhead cast a brilliant, unforgiving light across the polished stone floors.
Down the long hallway, the muffled, distorted bass of Chase’s voice filtered through the wood of the ballroom doors.
He was using his best, most humble tone.
The cadence of his practiced pauses drifted into the hall, complete with the deliberate cracks in his voice meant to draw sympathy from the wealthy donors in the room.
I stopped in front of the carved mahogany double doors.
The brass handles gleamed in the light. Behind this wood my husband was using my supposed death to sell his new ‘charity’ to the crowd.
Renata stepped up beside me. She reached into her blazer pocket and held up a small silver thumb drive.
“I have the digital copy ready,” Renata whispered, her gaze intensely sharp. “I’m heading up to the tech booth in the balcony. Give me exactly two minutes to get into position. When you step through those doors, I take over the screens.”
She slipped away, disappearing down a carpeted side corridor that led to the upper levels.
I stood before the mahogany doors. This was it. Once I pushed these doors open, the ‘ghost’ was gone. The quiet safety of the mountain would vanish, and the plan would play out in front of two hundred people.
The second hand on my watch ticked down. I closed my eyes and took one steadying, prolonged breath of the floral air.
Holt stepped up to my left, his broad shoulder a few inches from mine. He looked down at me, catching the strained, rigid line of my mouth.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice a low, steady rumble.
I opened my eyes and gripped the polished brass handles. The metal was cool beneath my palms.
“I’ve been ready for months,” I said. “Let’s go.”