Chapter 3 - Escape and the Tech-Driven Counterattack
A surge of pure, venomous energy replaced my fear. I emailed the audio file to my secure cloud drive, forwarded it to my dad, and shoved the phone into my pocket.
I threw open the window. The humid summer air rushed in. I swung my legs over the sill, my pink dress catching on a stray nail, ripping slightly at the hem. I didn’t care. I lowered myself onto the sunroom roof, the shingles burning hot against my palms. Keeping low to avoid the sightlines of the dining room windows, I scrambled toward the edge and grabbed the thick wooden beams of the trellis.
Leaves and dirt rained down on me as I climbed down, my expensive shoes slipping on the damp wood. I hit the soft grass with a muffled thud. I was out.
I didn’t run down the driveway. I sprinted through the treeline, hopping the low stone wall that separated the Henderson estate from the main road. I walked for two miles before I found a gas station and called an Uber.
Twenty minutes later, I collapsed into the passenger seat of my best friend Harper’s car in the parking lot of a strip mall. Harper, a corporate strategist with a heart of gold and a temper of fire, took one look at my grease-stained hair, my ripped dress, and my trembling hands.
“What the hell happened?” she demanded, throwing the car into gear.
“I’m divorcing him,” I choked out, the tears finally falling. “And I have the evidence to destroy them.”
We drove to her downtown apartment. I showered until my skin was raw, scrubbing the smell of that filthy towel away. When I emerged, wrapped in one of Harper’s oversized hoodies, I checked my phone.
Fifty missed calls. A dozen voicemails. I opened my messages. At the very top was a text from Derek.
You think you’re clever? You left your Apple Watch in the bathroom. I can see exactly where you are on the Find My app. I’m coming to get you, and you are going to regret making me look like a fool.
I smashed the watch with the heel of my boot before Derek could get within five miles of Harper’s building. We spent the night awake, fueled by black coffee and righteous fury. I needed to vanish, and I needed an income before the Hendersons tried to freeze my accounts.
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By dawn, I had secured a short-term, high-security apartment rental online, paying the deposit with the cash from my wedding envelopes. By 8:00 AM, I was aggressively firing off my graphic design portfolio to top agencies in the city.
The universe, perhaps recognizing a woman on the edge, delivered a miracle. I received a call at 10:00 AM from Ms. Gallagher, the CEO of Luminous Design, a prestigious branding firm. They had an emergency opening for a senior designer and wanted to see me at noon.
