Chapter 3: The Safe House**
Outside the gallery, the Manhattan rain beat down on the pavement. A sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb, its hazard lights blinking through the mist. The rear passenger door swung open.
"Get in, Elena. Now," said a rough, steady voice from within.
Elena hesitated for half a second before sliding onto the leather seat. The driver stepped on the gas, vanishing into the heavy traffic of Fifth Avenue before paparazzi could surround the vehicle.
The man sitting beside her was Marcus Cole—former chief of security for Elena’s late father. He had graying temples, a scar along his jawline, and eyes that had seen too much corporate bloodshed. It was Marcus who had secretly pulled Elena out of the icy river six years ago and hidden her away until she was strong enough to return.
"You took a massive risk going in there like that," Marcus said, tossing a dry woolen blanket and a warm thermos into her lap. "Victoria has deep ties with city officials and private contractors. By morning, every hitman from Boston to Brooklyn will have your photograph."
Elena wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and took a slow sip of hot tea. The warmth seeped into her aching chest.
"Let them look," she murmured, gazing out at the neon reflections blurring across the wet window. "For six years, they thought they had buried the Vance family legacy along with me. They used our foundation to launder millions, kicked out our community programs, and turned my father's life work into an offshore slush fund."
She looked down at the resin-encased drive in her hand.
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"They think this is about money or revenge," Elena added softly. "It’s not. It’s about returning what they stole to the people who actually need it."
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