Chapter 10 - THE MIDNIGHT MEETING
Adrian returned before dawn. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t argue. Didn’t waste time blaming me. He listened to every word I said, examined the document Julian had left, and then called Detective Morrison.
We made a plan.
At midnight the following night, I would go to the boathouse. I would bring the signed document. It would be real—every page, every signature, every seal. Except one small thing. Adrian had added a clause, invisible to the naked eye unless you knew what to look for, that rendered the entire document void if signed under duress. Julian would never notice.
Once Julian had the paper, he would let his guard down. That was when we moved.
“He will be expecting you alone,” Morrison said. “No police visible. No cars nearby. We’ll be watching from the water. From the trees. Every angle. The moment he touches that paper… we move.”
“And if he doesn’t let Emma go?” I asked.
Adrian gripped my hand. “He won’t get the chance. We will end this before it begins.”
The next twenty-four hours passed in agonizing slowness. I stayed with Emma every second. Fed her. Bathed her. Rocked her. Memorized every curve of her face, the sound of her laugh, the way her hair curled at the nape of her neck.
At 11:45 PM, I walked toward the boathouse alone.
The night was cold. Wind whipped across the lake. The boathouse stood at the far end of the property, weathered and dark, half overhanging the water. A single light burned inside.
I walked up the creaky steps. Paused at the door.
“Julian?”
“Come in,” his voice called from inside.
I stepped through. Closed the door behind me.
Julian stood near the edge, dressed in dark clothes, a bag at his feet. No Emma.
My heart sank. “Where is she?”
“Safe,” Julian said. “Where you won’t find her until I am gone.”
He held out his hand. “The paper.”
I handed it over. He unfolded it. Read it by lantern light. Page by page. Slowly. Carefully.
My pulse hammered. Any second now.
He looked up. “Adrian signed it. Everything.”
“Everything,” I said. “Just as you asked. Now tell me where she is.”
Julian smiled. Folded the document carefully. Tucked it inside his coat.
“Tell Adrian I said thank you. And tell him… Elena would have wanted the family to stay together.”
He turned to leave.
“You’re not leaving without telling me where she is,” I said.
Julian paused at the door. He looked back at me, and for the first time, I saw it clearly—he had never intended to tell me.
“She’s where she belongs,” he said quietly. “With her blood.”
He stepped out.
I lunged after him. “JULIAN!”
Shouts erupted from the trees. Flashlights blinded us. Morrison’s voice boomed through a megaphone.
“Julian Mercer! Stop where you are!”
Julian didn’t stop. He ran. Down the steps. Toward a small boat tied below.
Adrian burst from the trees, sprinting past me. “JULIAN!”
Julian leaped into the boat. Fumbled with the engine. It sputtered. Caught.
Adrian reached the edge just as Julian pulled away. “WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?”
Julian stood in the boat, silhouetted against the moonlight, the wind whipping his coat. He held up the document.
“Find her yourself!” he shouted. “She’s where Elena died!”
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Adrian froze.
Julian laughed. A wild, terrible sound. “Check the studio! Check the walls! Check where you laid her to
