Chapter 11
Forty-seven minutes of silence.
I paced my apartment, phone clutched in my hand, every worst-case scenario playing out in my mind.
Daniel knew Richard was dangerous. He'd told me people had "accidents." And now he was inside that man's home, alone, with damning evidence.
I was reaching for my keys to drive there myself when my phone finally rang.
"I'm out." Daniel's voice was breathless. "Got what we need. But Ashley — I wasn't followed by Richard's people."
"Then who?"
"Ryan Carter."
I went cold. "What?"
"He was outside the estate. Watching me go in. I don't know how he found out, but he was there."
"Did he see what you took?"
"I don't think so. But he saw me leave in a hurry." A pause. "He'll have questions."
"Let him." My mind raced. "What did you find?"
"Everything. Medical orders signed by Helen, countersigned by Werner, paid through a shell company linked to my father. Dosage instructions. A timeline. Ashley—" his voice softened. "It's all here. They planned it for months."
My knees gave out. I sank onto the couch, the phone pressed to my ear.
Months. They had spent months planning how to kill my mother.
"Come here," I whispered. "Bring everything."
Daniel arrived within the hour, a leather bag full of photographed documents and one original — a handwritten note from Helen to Richard, discussing the "timeline for Mei Lin's treatment."
Treatment. They called murder a treatment.
"This goes to the police tonight," Daniel said.
"And a copy to my lawyers." I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "This ends now."
By 10 PM, the documents were in the hands of law enforcement and my legal team simultaneously.
By midnight, a warrant was issued for Helen's arrest.
But Helen was gone. Her apartment — empty. Her phone — disconnected.
Someone had warned her.
"Victoria," I realized aloud. "Victoria tipped her off."
Leo confirmed it within the hour. Phone records showed a call from Victoria to Helen at 9:45 PM — fifteen minutes before the warrant was filed.
Helen had disappeared into the night with the Lane family's help.
I stood at my window, looking at the city lights.
She had murdered my mother and now she was running free.
At 1 AM, an unexpected visitor buzzed my apartment intercom.
Ryan.
Against my better judgment, I let him up.
He walked in looking wrecked. No jacket, shirt untucked, hair disheveled.
"I followed Ashford today," he admitted immediately. "To Richard Blackwell's estate."
"I know."
"I wasn't trying to sabotage you." He ran a hand through his hair. "I was trying to understand what you were involved in. When I saw where he went — Ashley, do you know what Blackwell is capable of?"
"Better than you do."
He stepped closer, his expression raw. "I was worried. About you."
"Since when?"
"Since—" He stopped himself. Took a breath. "Since the gala. Since I saw who you really are and realized what an absolute fool I've been."
I was too tired for this. Too drained, too focused on Helen's escape.
"Ryan, my mother was murdered. Helen killed her. And now she's fled. I don't have bandwidth for your guilt."
His face went slack with shock. "Murdered? Your — your mother was—"
"Yes." My voice was flat. "Now do you understand why I dismantled your company? You allied yourself — unknowingly, maybe — with a murderer."
He looked sick. Physically ill. He sank into my couch, head in his hands.
"What can I do?" His voice was muffled. "Tell me what I can do."
"Find Helen." I said it without thinking, but the moment the words left my mouth, I knew it was right. "You have connections I don't. People in places I can't reach. Find her before she disappears for good."
He looked up, eyes fierce with purpose.
"I will." He stood. "I'll find her. I swear to you."
He left without another word.
And despite everything — the betrayal, the coldness, the three wasted years — I believed him.
I paced my apartment, phone clutched in my hand, every worst-case scenario playing out in my mind.
Daniel knew Richard was dangerous. He'd told me people had "accidents." And now he was inside that man's home, alone, with damning evidence.
I was reaching for my keys to drive there myself when my phone finally rang.
"I'm out." Daniel's voice was breathless. "Got what we need. But Ashley — I wasn't followed by Richard's people."
"Then who?"
"Ryan Carter."
I went cold. "What?"
"He was outside the estate. Watching me go in. I don't know how he found out, but he was there."
"Did he see what you took?"
"I don't think so. But he saw me leave in a hurry." A pause. "He'll have questions."
"Let him." My mind raced. "What did you find?"
"Everything. Medical orders signed by Helen, countersigned by Werner, paid through a shell company linked to my father. Dosage instructions. A timeline. Ashley—" his voice softened. "It's all here. They planned it for months."
My knees gave out. I sank onto the couch, the phone pressed to my ear.
Months. They had spent months planning how to kill my mother.
"Come here," I whispered. "Bring everything."
Daniel arrived within the hour, a leather bag full of photographed documents and one original — a handwritten note from Helen to Richard, discussing the "timeline for Mei Lin's treatment."
Treatment. They called murder a treatment.
"This goes to the police tonight," Daniel said.
"And a copy to my lawyers." I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "This ends now."
By 10 PM, the documents were in the hands of law enforcement and my legal team simultaneously.
By midnight, a warrant was issued for Helen's arrest.
But Helen was gone. Her apartment — empty. Her phone — disconnected.
Someone had warned her.
"Victoria," I realized aloud. "Victoria tipped her off."
Leo confirmed it within the hour. Phone records showed a call from Victoria to Helen at 9:45 PM — fifteen minutes before the warrant was filed.
Helen had disappeared into the night with the Lane family's help.
I stood at my window, looking at the city lights.
She had murdered my mother and now she was running free.
At 1 AM, an unexpected visitor buzzed my apartment intercom.
Ryan.
Against my better judgment, I let him up.
He walked in looking wrecked. No jacket, shirt untucked, hair disheveled.
"I followed Ashford today," he admitted immediately. "To Richard Blackwell's estate."
"I know."
"I wasn't trying to sabotage you." He ran a hand through his hair. "I was trying to understand what you were involved in. When I saw where he went — Ashley, do you know what Blackwell is capable of?"
"Better than you do."
He stepped closer, his expression raw. "I was worried. About you."
"Since when?"
"Since—" He stopped himself. Took a breath. "Since the gala. Since I saw who you really are and realized what an absolute fool I've been."
I was too tired for this. Too drained, too focused on Helen's escape.
"Ryan, my mother was murdered. Helen killed her. And now she's fled. I don't have bandwidth for your guilt."
His face went slack with shock. "Murdered? Your — your mother was—"
"Yes." My voice was flat. "Now do you understand why I dismantled your company? You allied yourself — unknowingly, maybe — with a murderer."
He looked sick. Physically ill. He sank into my couch, head in his hands.
"What can I do?" His voice was muffled. "Tell me what I can do."
"Find Helen." I said it without thinking, but the moment the words left my mouth, I knew it was right. "You have connections I don't. People in places I can't reach. Find her before she disappears for good."
He looked up, eyes fierce with purpose.
"I will." He stood. "I'll find her. I swear to you."
He left without another word.
And despite everything — the betrayal, the coldness, the three wasted years — I believed him.