Damon’s final words “The sound of his attack helicopters is already on the wind”, didn’t break me; they solidified me. The pain of the contraction was sharp, but the fear was replaced by a singular, cold clarity: Vladimir is here. That means I have minutes, not hours. I cannot sign. I must not allow him to execute his escape plan, not when my husband is risking everything a mile away.
I fought the searing pain, focusing on the metallic pen still resting on the contract. If I sign, I give him the weapon he needs to vanish and cripple Vladimir financially. If I refuse, the coming firefight risks the lives of my sons in an unsanitized basement. There must be a third way.
I looked at Damon, who was watching me with a smug, expectant expression. He thought he was dealing with a frightened wom
