Chapter 9
Dad turned to me. "What do you want, Elena? This is yours."
I'd thought about this. Every minute since that basement floor, I'd thought about nothing else.
"I want the truth first. All of it."
Dad nodded. Gestured to Roman.
Roman pulled a chair up in front of Derek. Sat down casually, like they were about to have coffee.
"Here's what we already know." Roman crossed his arms. "You married Elena Park—her cover identity—four years ago. Within six months, you'd already connected with Vivian Cross through a mutual friend. You never stopped seeing her."
Derek said nothing. His jaw was clenching and unclenching.
"The surrogacy scam was Vivian's idea. Get Elena pregnant, forge backdated documents, stage a complicated birth, eliminate the surrogate. Clean custody transfer. You'd already bribed a judge for the paperwork."
Vivian whimpered. "I want a lawyer."
Nobody even looked at her.
Roman continued. "What we want to know is—was anyone else involved? The doctor. The nurses. The men who carried Elena to the basement. Names."
Derek's eye darted around the room. Calculating exit strategies that didn't exist.
"I'll tell you everything," he said quickly. "Everything. Just—just let me walk out of here alive. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again. I'll sign whatever—"
Dad laughed. Short, sharp, like a bark.
"You think you're negotiating." He leaned down, putting his face inches from Derek's. "You're not. You're confessing. The only question is whether you do it with all your fingers or none of them."
Derek cracked in under ninety seconds. Names poured out of him—the doctor, the nurses, the men who'd dragged me downstairs. A lawyer who'd handled the forged documents. A judge who'd been paid off for the custody ruling.
Every name got written down. Every one of them would get a visit before sunrise.
"And her?" Dad nodded toward Vivian.
Derek didn't hesitate. Didn't even look at her. "It was her idea. All of it. The stream, the basement, the—the no anesthesia thing. That was all her. She wanted Elena to suffer. I just—I just went along with it."
Vivian's scream was raw, animal. "YOU LIAR! You came to me! You said she was nobody! You said no one would miss her!"
That last sentence hung in the air like smoke.
No one would miss her.
My father straightened up. Turned to Vivian. His smile was the scariest thing in the room.
"No one would miss her," he repeated, soft. Almost gentle. "Interesting choice of words."
Vivian realized her mistake. I could see it happen—the blood draining from her face, the understanding crashing through.
"Who—" She swallowed hard. "Who are you people?"
Dad didn't answer. Just looked at Roman.
"The livestream," Dad said. "How many viewers saw the C-section?"
"Peak was forty-two thousand."
"Forty-two thousand people watched my daughter get cut open without painkillers." He said it like he was reading a weather report. "And nobody called the police."
"Several did, actually. Reports were filed. Local PD buried them. Derek had someone on payroll."
"Add them to the list."
Dad rolled his sleeves down. Put his jacket back on. Buttoned it slowly, precisely.
"Derek. Vivian. You're going to disappear. Not the way you planned—with a new identity and a beach house. The other way."
Derek started begging. Ugly, wet sobbing. The man I'd married—the man I'd loved—reduced to a puddle of tears and snot on a concrete floor.
I felt nothing.
"But first." Dad turned to me again. "Elena. Is there anything you want to say to them?"
I wheeled forward. Close enough to look Derek in his one good eye.
"I loved you," I said quietly. "Really loved you. And you used it to destroy me."
He tried to speak. I didn't let him.
"My daughter will never know your name. She'll never know you existed. That's your punishment. You die, and no one remembers."
I looked at Vivian.
"And you. You wanted to be a mother so badly you stole someone else's baby. You'll never touch a child again. You'll never touch anything again."
Vivian started hyperventilating. "Please. Please, I'm sorry. I'll do anything—"
"You had your chance to stop." My voice was steady now. Cold. My father's daughter after all. "You chose to brand yourself into my memory forever. Now I'm returning the favor."
I turned the wheelchair around.
"I'm done. Do what you need to do, Dad."
The door closed behind me. I didn't hear screaming.
The soundproofing worked.
I'd thought about this. Every minute since that basement floor, I'd thought about nothing else.
"I want the truth first. All of it."
Dad nodded. Gestured to Roman.
Roman pulled a chair up in front of Derek. Sat down casually, like they were about to have coffee.
"Here's what we already know." Roman crossed his arms. "You married Elena Park—her cover identity—four years ago. Within six months, you'd already connected with Vivian Cross through a mutual friend. You never stopped seeing her."
Derek said nothing. His jaw was clenching and unclenching.
"The surrogacy scam was Vivian's idea. Get Elena pregnant, forge backdated documents, stage a complicated birth, eliminate the surrogate. Clean custody transfer. You'd already bribed a judge for the paperwork."
Vivian whimpered. "I want a lawyer."
Nobody even looked at her.
Roman continued. "What we want to know is—was anyone else involved? The doctor. The nurses. The men who carried Elena to the basement. Names."
Derek's eye darted around the room. Calculating exit strategies that didn't exist.
"I'll tell you everything," he said quickly. "Everything. Just—just let me walk out of here alive. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again. I'll sign whatever—"
Dad laughed. Short, sharp, like a bark.
"You think you're negotiating." He leaned down, putting his face inches from Derek's. "You're not. You're confessing. The only question is whether you do it with all your fingers or none of them."
Derek cracked in under ninety seconds. Names poured out of him—the doctor, the nurses, the men who'd dragged me downstairs. A lawyer who'd handled the forged documents. A judge who'd been paid off for the custody ruling.
Every name got written down. Every one of them would get a visit before sunrise.
"And her?" Dad nodded toward Vivian.
Derek didn't hesitate. Didn't even look at her. "It was her idea. All of it. The stream, the basement, the—the no anesthesia thing. That was all her. She wanted Elena to suffer. I just—I just went along with it."
Vivian's scream was raw, animal. "YOU LIAR! You came to me! You said she was nobody! You said no one would miss her!"
That last sentence hung in the air like smoke.
No one would miss her.
My father straightened up. Turned to Vivian. His smile was the scariest thing in the room.
"No one would miss her," he repeated, soft. Almost gentle. "Interesting choice of words."
Vivian realized her mistake. I could see it happen—the blood draining from her face, the understanding crashing through.
"Who—" She swallowed hard. "Who are you people?"
Dad didn't answer. Just looked at Roman.
"The livestream," Dad said. "How many viewers saw the C-section?"
"Peak was forty-two thousand."
"Forty-two thousand people watched my daughter get cut open without painkillers." He said it like he was reading a weather report. "And nobody called the police."
"Several did, actually. Reports were filed. Local PD buried them. Derek had someone on payroll."
"Add them to the list."
Dad rolled his sleeves down. Put his jacket back on. Buttoned it slowly, precisely.
"Derek. Vivian. You're going to disappear. Not the way you planned—with a new identity and a beach house. The other way."
Derek started begging. Ugly, wet sobbing. The man I'd married—the man I'd loved—reduced to a puddle of tears and snot on a concrete floor.
I felt nothing.
"But first." Dad turned to me again. "Elena. Is there anything you want to say to them?"
I wheeled forward. Close enough to look Derek in his one good eye.
"I loved you," I said quietly. "Really loved you. And you used it to destroy me."
He tried to speak. I didn't let him.
"My daughter will never know your name. She'll never know you existed. That's your punishment. You die, and no one remembers."
I looked at Vivian.
"And you. You wanted to be a mother so badly you stole someone else's baby. You'll never touch a child again. You'll never touch anything again."
Vivian started hyperventilating. "Please. Please, I'm sorry. I'll do anything—"
"You had your chance to stop." My voice was steady now. Cold. My father's daughter after all. "You chose to brand yourself into my memory forever. Now I'm returning the favor."
I turned the wheelchair around.
"I'm done. Do what you need to do, Dad."
The door closed behind me. I didn't hear screaming.
The soundproofing worked.