“Oh.” Quin rubs the back of his neck, wincing. “That wasn’t supposed to be there.”
Damon turns to face him. “With the Parlaut money?”
Quin nods, skeptical of Damon’s reaction. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s the least we can do,” Damon says, eliciting a grateful smile from Quin. “I’ll call Javier. We’ll set up a press conference. You can make the announcement this weekend.”
“Wecan make the announcement,” Quin says. “I’m not taking the credit for this alone.”
Damon shakes his head. “No, this is somethingyouneed to do, Q. Not me.” He briefly glances in my direction. “I need to make my own amends.”
I notice Damon’s lip quiver, and I shiver.
Rock bottom isn’t meant to be home. I hope he sees there’s a way out.
I pray he does.
THE HUNTED
QUINTON
The tenth time’sthe charm.
We’ve been looking at houses all weekend. It’s proven to be rather difficult to blend the needs and wants of three very distinct individuals. Damon prefers sleek surfaces, a minimalist approach. Emery is drawn to warmer finishes—fireplaces and exposed brick. I fall in-between, wanting a slice of both worlds. We haven’t had much luck in our search until today. This Park Avenue brownstone is modern, but also rustic and charming.
A perfect mix of us all.
Emery, Damon, and I step into the tastefully decorated living room, and I mentally cross my fingers that we’ve found the one. The realtor, a polished woman in her forties, greets us with a professional smile.
"I'll give you some time to look around. Let me know if you have any questions," she says before exiting the room.
Emery lights up with excitement as she begins exploring the townhouse. Damon follows her with a weak smile. At least he’s smiling. That’s a good sign.
As I begin to envision the future that could unfold within these walls, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I glance down at the screen. Agent Ube. My heart rattles with apprehension, and I excuse myself to a quiet corner.
He must have updates on Antonia Mancini. Why else call? I press the phone to my ear, fingertips tingling with nerves. “Well?”
Agent Ube clears his throat, a rough sound laced with tension. This can’t be good. "I have bad news, Dr. Marquis," he says solemnly. "It appears Antonia Mancini wiped herself from all our databases and servers. Every document we've compiled is gone."
My hand tightens into a fist, the ground beneath my feet nearly swallowing me whole. "What do you mean shewipedherself?"
"For the sake of transparency, which is what you deserve, it means she doesn't technically exist anymore," Agent Ube explains. "Birth certificate, IRS information, immigration records—everything. She has essentially deleted herself from every single federal and state server."
My mind spins, an anvil pressing on my chest. On my heart. Fucking hell. How is this possible? She erased her entire digital footprint? There’s no trace of her existence? It can’t be. This chapter needs toend. To close. Until she’s behind bars, I know there won’t be any true peace. We’ll all be on edge. Waiting. Wondering.
Christ…what a horrid way to live.
"What about surveillance footage, traffic cams?” I ask. “Hard copies? You must have hard copies.”
"We live in a digital age, Dr. Marquis,” Agent Ube says, a note of frustration in his tone.He’sfrustrated? He doesn’t know the meaning of that word. “My team is working overtime right nowto try and recover the files, but it’s not looking good. Whatever she did, it appears to be irreversible.”
Irreversible…
No. That can’t be.
"So, now what?" I ask through gritted teeth. "What does this mean?"
"It means that we'll need to work harder to find her," Agent Ube says. "We'll need to explore alternative ways to locate her.”
