Chapter 7
Nadia drove through the dark streets while I crouched in the backseat, watching every pair of headlights behind us.
"My apartment's not safe," Nadia said. "He knows about me. He knows about everyone in your life."
She was right. Roman was meticulous. Three years of marriage meant three years of mapping every relationship I had, every place I might run.
"The DA's office," I said. "Take me there. I'll wait until morning."
"It's 1 AM, Camille."
"Then I'll sleep on their steps. I'm not letting him get to me before this goes to trial."
Nadia's phone rang. She glanced at the screen and froze.
"It's Derek," she whispered.
Roman's assistant. The doctor's son. The man who'd heard my phone call and reported back to Roman like a trained dog.
"Don't answer," I said.
But the phone rang again. And again. Then a text: *Ms. Nadia, please. I need to talk to Camille. It's about Elise. She's in danger. Roman is trying to do the procedure himself.*
I grabbed the phone.
"What do you mean, himself?" I demanded.
Derek's voice was strained. "He broke into the facility an hour ago. He has surgical equipment. He's planning to extract Elise's own remaining marrow and do an autologous transplant — but he's not qualified. He'll kill her."
"Why should I care?"
Silence. Then, quietly: "Because if Elise dies on his operating table, he'll blame you. He'll come after you with nothing left to lose."
The weight of that truth settled over me.
"There's something else," Derek continued. "I've been his assistant for four years. I helped him find you. I helped him plan everything. I watched him charm you and I said nothing."
"Get to the point."
"I have everything. Video recordings from the operating room. Audio of Roman giving instructions during your procedures. Footage of him discussing your death with Dr. Voss. I kept it all as insurance."
"Why are you telling me now?"
"Because he just threatened to kill my father if he cooperates with police. Dr. Voss is my father, Camille. He's a weak man who did terrible things, but he's still my father. Roman will have him killed in custody."
Nadia pulled over. We looked at each other.
"Give me the evidence," I said. "All of it. And testify."
"In exchange?"
"I'll make sure your father gets protective custody. That's the best I can offer."
Long pause. Then: "There's a storage unit on Fifth and Harbor. Unit 47. The code is 0917. Everything's on a hard drive inside."
He hung up. Nadia was already driving toward Fifth Street.
We found the storage unit at 2 AM. Inside, stacked neatly on a metal shelf, were three hard drives, a folder of photographs, and a USB drive labeled: **OPERATING ROOM RECORDINGS — ALL PROCEDURES.**
I plugged the USB into Nadia's laptop in the car.
The first video loaded. I saw myself on an operating table, unconscious. Roman stood beside Dr. Voss, still in his business suit, watching as they inserted the needle into my hip bone.
"Deeper," Roman instructed casually. "We need a bigger sample this time."
He was drinking coffee. Watching them drill into my bones while sipping coffee.
I slammed the laptop shut. Nadia was crying silently beside me.
"This ends him," she said through her teeth. "This ends him forever."
Dawn was breaking. I had the final nail for Roman Hale's coffin.
But as we pulled away from the storage unit, my burner phone buzzed one last time.
A photo. Sent from Roman's number.
It was Nadia's apartment. Taken from inside. With her cat sitting on the couch.
The message read: *I can get to anyone, Camille. Come home. Let's end this quietly.*
"My apartment's not safe," Nadia said. "He knows about me. He knows about everyone in your life."
She was right. Roman was meticulous. Three years of marriage meant three years of mapping every relationship I had, every place I might run.
"The DA's office," I said. "Take me there. I'll wait until morning."
"It's 1 AM, Camille."
"Then I'll sleep on their steps. I'm not letting him get to me before this goes to trial."
Nadia's phone rang. She glanced at the screen and froze.
"It's Derek," she whispered.
Roman's assistant. The doctor's son. The man who'd heard my phone call and reported back to Roman like a trained dog.
"Don't answer," I said.
But the phone rang again. And again. Then a text: *Ms. Nadia, please. I need to talk to Camille. It's about Elise. She's in danger. Roman is trying to do the procedure himself.*
I grabbed the phone.
"What do you mean, himself?" I demanded.
Derek's voice was strained. "He broke into the facility an hour ago. He has surgical equipment. He's planning to extract Elise's own remaining marrow and do an autologous transplant — but he's not qualified. He'll kill her."
"Why should I care?"
Silence. Then, quietly: "Because if Elise dies on his operating table, he'll blame you. He'll come after you with nothing left to lose."
The weight of that truth settled over me.
"There's something else," Derek continued. "I've been his assistant for four years. I helped him find you. I helped him plan everything. I watched him charm you and I said nothing."
"Get to the point."
"I have everything. Video recordings from the operating room. Audio of Roman giving instructions during your procedures. Footage of him discussing your death with Dr. Voss. I kept it all as insurance."
"Why are you telling me now?"
"Because he just threatened to kill my father if he cooperates with police. Dr. Voss is my father, Camille. He's a weak man who did terrible things, but he's still my father. Roman will have him killed in custody."
Nadia pulled over. We looked at each other.
"Give me the evidence," I said. "All of it. And testify."
"In exchange?"
"I'll make sure your father gets protective custody. That's the best I can offer."
Long pause. Then: "There's a storage unit on Fifth and Harbor. Unit 47. The code is 0917. Everything's on a hard drive inside."
He hung up. Nadia was already driving toward Fifth Street.
We found the storage unit at 2 AM. Inside, stacked neatly on a metal shelf, were three hard drives, a folder of photographs, and a USB drive labeled: **OPERATING ROOM RECORDINGS — ALL PROCEDURES.**
I plugged the USB into Nadia's laptop in the car.
The first video loaded. I saw myself on an operating table, unconscious. Roman stood beside Dr. Voss, still in his business suit, watching as they inserted the needle into my hip bone.
"Deeper," Roman instructed casually. "We need a bigger sample this time."
He was drinking coffee. Watching them drill into my bones while sipping coffee.
I slammed the laptop shut. Nadia was crying silently beside me.
"This ends him," she said through her teeth. "This ends him forever."
Dawn was breaking. I had the final nail for Roman Hale's coffin.
But as we pulled away from the storage unit, my burner phone buzzed one last time.
A photo. Sent from Roman's number.
It was Nadia's apartment. Taken from inside. With her cat sitting on the couch.
The message read: *I can get to anyone, Camille. Come home. Let's end this quietly.*