Gerald's days of controlling me are numbered. I just have to be patient and smart.
Wiping my eyes, I emerge from the bathroom, my head held high.
Now the real fight begins.
I steady my breathing as I walk back to the waiting area, each step deliberate. This isn't the time for panic or despair. I need to be focused, alert.
The fluorescent lights of the immigration office seem harsher now, almost blinding. The hushed conversations around me blur into white noise. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart, keeping time with each click of my heels on the linoleum floor.
I nod politely at the lawyer and Gerald's goon.
Outwardly, I'm the picture of calm.
Inwardly, my mind races.
They nod back at me and gather their belongings, ready to transport me back to the mansion.
The interview today had been meant to secure our future here. Instead, it has only cemented how precarious our situation really is.
We're trapped in Gerald's web, and even the authorities are tangled up in it.
But I refuse to lose hope. Gerald holds all the cards now, but I still have my wits. And I'll use them to slowly, methodically pick apart the foundations of his control. It will take time. Patience. Sacrifice.
I steel myself for what lies ahead.
For now, I have to play the role Gerald expected. Be obedient. Compliant.
All the while watching, waiting, gathering what I need to make our escape.
Although it may feel like it, this is not the end. It's only the beginning. The battle lines are drawn, and I won't stop until I win our freedom.
No matter what it takes.
Chapter 22
Morello
Ipush open the heavy metal door, the hinges creaking loudly in the stark silence of the empty hallway. My shoes echo against the cold concrete floor as I make my way toward the briefing room, my heart pounding. This is it. The break we've been waiting for.
I step into the fluorescent lights of the briefing room. Lynfield is already waiting, a manila folder in hand. His steel blue eyes meet mine, crinkling at the corners.
"Morning, Morello. Take a seat."
I sink into the chair across from him, clasping my hands on the metal tabletop.
Lynfield slides the folder to me.
I flip it open.
A headshot of a handsome man with a charming smile stares up at me.
"Gerald Cranshaw," Lynfield says. "We got a solid lead on him connected to the trafficking ring."
My pulse quickens. This guy's been untouchable for years. A real wolf in sheep's clothing.
"How'd we get this break?" I ask.
Lynfield grins. "Let's just say Gerald got uncharacteristically sloppy. Left a trail. Could be the opening we've been waiting for."