Chapter 8 - Safe Harbor
Marissa met me at her doorway, holding Owen tightly against her shoulder. The baby was crying softly, sensing his mother's terror.
"They bought the building, Adrian," she whispered, her eyes wide with shock as she gestured around her small living room. "I got an eviction notice slipped under my door at six o'clock this morning."
"Pack your bags, Marissa," I said firmly, walking into the room and grabbing two empty duffel bags from her closet. "You and Owen are leaving right now."
"Where?" she asked, her voice shaking. "I don't have anywhere to go. My mother’s apartment in Rhode Island is too small, and if Richard owns Aegis Holdings, he'll track me down there too."
"You're coming to my private residence," I replied, unzipping the duffel bag and placing it on her bed. "The penthouse downtown is in my personal name, not the company's. Richard’s security team can't touch you there without committing felony invasion of private property."
Marissa hesitated, looking at me with a mixture of hope and profound confusion.
"Why are you doing this, Adrian?" she asked softly. "You're risking your entire career. Your family will turn against you."
I stopped packing, turned around, and looked at her.
"Because four years ago, your husband died saving eighty people while my family drank scotch," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Because seven months ago, you walked into my home and cleaned my floors while worrying if your baby had enough formula. And because if I don't help you fix this, I have no right to call myself a human being."
Tears filled Marissa’s dark eyes, spilling over her lashes as she looked down at her baby boy.
"David was a good man, Adrian," she whispered. "He didn't deserve to be forgotten."
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"He won't be forgotten," I swore. "I promise you."
Within forty-five minutes, we had loaded Marissa’s belongings into the back of my SUV. I drove through the city, watching my rearview mirror for any sign of Miller’s dark sedan, until we crossed the secure underground gate of my downtown residence.
