Chapter 7 - Sanctuary in the Slums
The concrete drainage tunnel echoed with the rushing sound of rainwater and sewage runoff as Ava splashed desperately through the knee-deep mud and debris.
Her designer boots were ruined, her hair clung to her face in matted strands, and her muscles burned with exhaustion, but she refused to slow down.
After ten agonizing minutes of navigating the subterranean maze, she found a rusted iron ladder leading up to a street-level maintenance hatch located behind an old, abandoned railway station on the edge of the downtown district.
She pushed upward against the heavy iron lid with her shoulder.
It yielded with a loud screech, allowing her to haul herself up and out into the desolate alleyway behind the station.
She was safe from immediate pursuit, but she was entirely exposed, shivering uncontrollably, and trapped miles away from any friendly territory.
She pulled her burner phone from her wet coat pocket, pressing the power button with a thumb that trembled violently.
The screen flickered to life, showing three missed calls and a text alert from Julian Vance, her private investigator.
“Cops are sniffing around your corporate server logs. Call me immediately,” the text read.
Ava dialed Julian's number instantly, holding the damp phone against her ear as she huddled beneath the concrete overhang of the railway loading dock.
It rang twice before a harried, breathless voice answered on the other line.
“Ava? Where the hell are you? Your father's private security detail just filed a missing person report under your name, claiming you've suffered a severe psychotic break and are armed and dangerous!” Julian whispered urgently.
“They're trying to frame me to cover up what actually happened tonight,” Ava replied, her voice breaking under the weight of exhaustion and adrenaline. “Julian, I have the physical lockbox. Ethan gave it to me before they breached the loft.”
A heavy gasp echoed from the other end of the line.
“You saw him? You actually talked to Ethan?” Julian asked, disbelief and shock warring in his tone.
“He's alive, Julian. And he proved to me that my father murdered our mother fifteen years ago,” Ava said fiercely, wiping rain and tears from her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. “We need to get this evidence to federal prosecutor Sarah Jenkins before my father's corporate lawyers manage to freeze our assets and issue an Interpol warrant against both of us.”
“Jenkins?” Julian repeated, hesitation creeping into his voice. “Ava, Sarah Jenkins is the cleanest prosecutor in the district, but she's also intensely cautious. Walking into her office with a stolen lockbox and a wild accusation against Richard Morgan without ironclad chain-of-custody verification is suicide. His legal team will have us arrested for corporate espionage before we even reach the front desk.”
“Then we don't go to her office,” Ava said, her eyes narrowing as a desperate, daring plan began to form in her mind. “We meet her face-to-face where she goes off the record. Where is she tonight?”
Julian fell silent for a few seconds, furiously typing away at his computer terminal on the other end.
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“According to my secure law enforcement feeds, she's attending a late-night charity gala at the downtown Metropolitan Arts Center, acting as a guest speaker for a judicial oversight panel,” Julian reported quickly. “She leaves the building through the private underground garage around 2:00 a.m. That gives us less than two hours.”
“Send me the exact blueprint of the underground garage and her vehicle details,” Ava instructed firmly. “I'm heading there right now.”
