Chapter 5: Digital Ghosts
The next forty-eight hours in the cabin were a masterclass in quiet survival. Victor brought supplies every evening—formula, diapers, groceries, and a thick stack of printed financial documents tied with twine. While Ethan slept on a makeshift pallet of wool blankets near the woodstove, Victor and I spent hours pouring over the papers by the dim amber glow of battery-powered lanterns.
The documents were a paper trail of deception. Serena had been quietly draining accounts from the Blackwood Foundation, funneling money into offshore shell companies registered under maiden names and expired corporate entities. Worse still, medical records from the private pediatrician showed prescriptions for mild sedatives administered to Ethan during his fussy periods—prescriptions Serena had ordered the previous night-nanny to administer.
My stomach turned. The cold elegance in the blazer dress wasn't just superficial; it was a mask for systematic cruelty.
“She wanted him docile,” I whispered, staring at a pharmacy receipt bearing Serena’s signature. “Every time the board members visited, she wanted a quiet, perfect baby who never made a sound.”
“And when you refused to give him the drops, she started freezing you out,” Victor said, leaning against the rough-hewn stone of the fireplace mantel. He reached down, slowly pulling off one of his leather gloves and tossing it onto the table. His hands were scarred across the knuckles—old injuries from a life before high-society boardrooms and glass towers.
“What happens when the IPO goes live next month?” I asked, looking up from the ledger.
“If we don’t expose the ledger before then, she locks down the trust permanently,” Victor said, his voice dropping an octave. “She leaves the country with Ethan legally assigned to a European boarding academy under her sole guardianship. You’ll never see him again, Lily.”
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A sudden, sharp cough from the pallet made my heart skip a beat. Ethan stirred, his small face flushed with an unnatural heat, his breathing shallow and rattling. The cabin's drop in temperature overnight had triggered a chest cold.
Victor and I exchanged a single, panicked look. We needed medical supplies, and we needed them now—which meant risking a trip back down the mountain toward civilization.
