Chapter 7 The Night of Betrayal

# Chapter 7: The Night of Betrayal

Federal protection felt suffocating after a week. The safe house—a nondescript suburban home with reinforced windows and plainclothes agents stationed outside—had become our temporary prison. Gideon paced the living room like a caged tiger while I tried to focus on the case files Agent Calhoun had left for our review.

"We should be out there," Gideon said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "The preliminary hearing is tomorrow, and we're stuck here while my mother's lawyers build their defense."

I looked up from the documents. "The prosecution has our testimonies, the evidence we gathered. They're building a solid case."

"Evidence can disappear. Witnesses can be intimidated." His voice was tight with frustration. "You don't know my mother like I do, Harper. She's had three weeks to prepare."

I rose from the couch, crossing to where he stood by the window. At four months pregnant, my body was changing noticeably now, a small bump visible beneath my borrowed sweater. I took Gideon's hand and placed it over our growing child.

"Feel that?" I said softly. "That's what we're fighting for. Not just justice, but a future."

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he drew me closer. "I know. I just can't shake this feeling that something's wrong."

A knock at the door interrupted us. Agent Daniels, the younger of our two protection officers, entered with a tablet in hand.

"Mr. Blackwood, there's someone here to see you. Says she's from your legal team."

Gideon frowned. "I wasn't expecting anyone."

Daniels turned the tablet to show us the security feed from the front gate. A sleek black car had pulled up, and from it emerged a familiar figure—Vanessa Miller, Blackwood Pharmaceuticals' chief legal counsel.

"Let her in," Gideon decided after a moment's hesitation. "But stay close."

Ten minutes later, Vanessa sat across from us in the living room, her designer suit and perfect blowout a stark contrast to our casual attire. I'd met her briefly during my time at the mansion—a sharp-minded woman in her forties with a reputation for ruthless efficiency.

"I'll be direct," she said, setting her briefcase on the coffee table. "The board is splitting over this situation. Half support your mother; half are ready to distance themselves from the scandal."

"And which half are you on?" Gideon asked coolly.

A small smile touched Vanessa's lips. "The winning side, of course. That's why I'm here." She removed several folders from her briefcase. "These are documents your mother doesn't know I have—contingency plans for shifting blame if the illegal trials were ever discovered."

I leaned forward. "She planned to frame someone?"

"Several someones," Vanessa confirmed, "including you, Gideon. And Dr. Whitman, of course, who conveniently can't defend himself from his hospital bed."

Gideon's expression darkened. "Why are you showing us this?"

"Because Margot made a critical mistake. These documents implicate board members who were kept in the dark about the trials' true nature. People with significant power and influence." She slid the folders toward us. "People who now want insurance that when this ship sinks, they won't go down with it."

I studied Vanessa carefully. "And what do you want in exchange?"

"Immunity," she replied without hesitation. "And a position in the restructured company once this is over." Her gaze shifted to Gideon. "You'll need experienced counsel to rebuild from the ashes your mother created."

After Vanessa left, Gideon and I examined the documents with Agent Calhoun, who had returned from a meeting with the prosecutors.

"This changes our strategy," Calhoun admitted, scanning the papers with a professional eye. "These documents directly link Margot to the decision-making process. No plausible deniability."

"Will it be enough?" I asked.

"Combined with your testimonies and the evidence you already provided? Yes." Calhoun gathered the papers carefully. "The hearing tomorrow just became a lot more interesting."

That night, as we prepared for bed, Gideon seemed preoccupied, staring out the bedroom window at the darkened street below.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, coming up behind him to wrap my arms around his waist.

"Family," he said quietly. "My father built Blackwood Pharmaceuticals to help people. My mother corrupted it. And now..." He turned to face me, his hand gently touching my growing belly. "Now there's a new generation to consider."

"We'll rebuild it," I promised. "Make it something your father would have been proud of."

His eyes, so often guarded, were vulnerable now. "You've given me something I never thought I'd have, Harper. Hope for a future beyond my mother's shadow."

We fell asleep in each other's arms, the closest thing to peace we'd known since this ordeal began.

Morning brought chaos. We were awakened by Agent Daniels pounding on our door.

"We need to move. Now," he ordered, already pulling out his weapon. "Security perimeter's been breached."

We dressed quickly, adrenaline pushing away the fog of sleep. As Gideon helped me into a coat, Agent Calhoun burst into the room.

"Change of plans," he said grimly. "We have a leak. Someone revealed your location."

"Vanessa?" I suggested.

"Possibly. We're investigating." Calhoun checked his weapon. "There's a car waiting in the garage. We'll take you to a secondary location."

We moved through the house quickly, Gideon keeping a protective arm around me. As we reached the kitchen, the sound of breaking glass from the front of the house sent us ducking for cover.

"Go!" Calhoun shouted, positioning himself to defend against the intrusion. "Daniels, get them out!"

Daniels led us through the garage door, where a black SUV waited with the engine running. As we approached, the driver's window lowered to reveal a face I recognized with a jolt of alarm—James, Margot's personal chauffeur.

"Get down!" I yelled, pulling Gideon back just as James raised a gun.

Daniels reacted instantly, pushing us aside and drawing his weapon. Two shots rang out in quick succession. James slumped over the steering wheel while Daniels fell to the garage floor, clutching his shoulder.

"Get... the keys," Daniels gasped through pain. "Second vehicle... in back..."

Gideon grabbed Daniels' keys while I pressed my scarf against the agent's wound. "We'll get help," I promised.

"Go," Daniels insisted. "More coming..."

As if confirming his warning, we heard shouts from the front of the house, followed by gunfire. Calhoun was engaging the intruders, buying us time.

We ran to the second vehicle—a nondescript sedan parked behind the house. Gideon helped me in before sliding behind the wheel. As we pulled away, I saw figures in tactical gear converging on the house.

"Who are they?" I gasped, heart pounding. "Not federal agents."

"Private security," Gideon replied grimly, accelerating down the back street. "My mother's elite team. They're trained ex-military."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere they won't look." His expression was determined as he navigated through suburban streets, taking random turns to ensure we weren't followed.

After thirty minutes of evasive driving, we arrived at a modest apartment building in a working-class neighborhood.

"My father kept this place off the books," Gideon explained as we hurried inside. "Somewhere he could escape when the pressure of being Nathaniel Blackwood became too much."

The apartment was small but comfortable, with dated furniture and bookshelves lining the walls. It had clearly been unoccupied for some time, a fine layer of dust covering most surfaces.

"We should be safe here for now," Gideon said, checking the locks. "No one knows about this place except me."

"What about the hearing?" I asked, sinking onto the worn sofa. "It's in three hours."

Gideon's expression hardened. "We need to contact Calhoun, make sure he's alive. Then find a way to get to the courthouse safely."

I pulled out my phone, only to find it had no signal. "Jammed," I muttered. "They're good."

"There's a landline in the bedroom," Gideon said. "An old secure line my father installed. It might still work."

As he disappeared into the bedroom, I moved to the window, carefully peering through the dusty blinds at the street below. Nothing seemed out of place, but the sense of being hunted lingered.

When Gideon returned, his face was grim. "Calhoun's been taken to the hospital. Alive, but critical. The safe house is compromised."

"And the hearing?"

"Still scheduled. The judge refused to postpone despite the attack." He sat beside me, taking my hands in his. "Harper, I think we have a traitor within the federal team."

The words sent a chill through me. "Who?"

"I don't know. But someone had to give my mother's team our exact location, the security protocols..." He squeezed my hands. "We can't trust anyone right now."

"So what do we do?" I asked, unconsciously placing a protective hand over my belly.

"We go to the courthouse ourselves," he said decisively. "Public venue, media presence—even my mother wouldn't attempt anything there."

We formulated a plan, using cash to hire a taxi and timing our arrival to coincide with the maximum number of reporters present. As we prepared to leave, Gideon's phone—which we'd kept turned off to avoid tracking—chimed with a text message.

"Someone's trying to reach me," he said, frowning as he checked the screen. His expression changed to one of surprise. "It's Mrs. Peterson."

I moved closer to read the message: "Master Gideon, urgent information regarding your mother's plans. Please call secure line immediately."

"Could be a trap," I warned.

"Or she could have critical information." He hesitated. "Mrs. Peterson has been with our family for thirty years. If anyone would know my mother's moves..."

After a brief discussion, we decided Gideon would make the call while I listened on the extension. He dialed the number Mrs. Peterson had provided, and after two rings, she answered.

"Mr. Gideon, thank heavens," her familiar voice came through, breathless with anxiety. "Are you and Miss Harper safe?"

"For now," Gideon replied cautiously. "What's happening, Mrs. Peterson?"

"The house is in chaos. Your mother has been making calls all night, and just an hour ago, Mr. Reynolds arrived."

I frowned, not recognizing the name, but Gideon's face darkened. "Marcus Reynolds? You're certain?"

"Yes, sir. They've been locked in the study since. And there's something else..." Her voice dropped lower. "I overheard them discussing a 'contingency plan' if you appeared at the courthouse. Something about 'final measures' and 'acceptable losses.'"

"She's planning something at the courthouse," Gideon translated, his voice tight. "Something drastic."

"There's more," Mrs. Peterson continued. "She mentioned a name—Agent Travers. Said he'd 'fulfilled his purpose.'"

I gasped. Travers was the senior agent who'd coordinated with the courthouse security for today's hearing.

"He's the leak," I whispered to Gideon.

"Mrs. Peterson, thank you," Gideon said. "You should leave the house now. It's not safe for you there."

"Don't worry about me," she replied with unexpected steel in her voice. "I've served the Blackwood family my entire adult life. Your father was a good man, and I see him in you. Do what needs to be done."

After hanging up, we sat in stunned silence for a moment.

"Reynolds is my mother's fixer," Gideon finally explained. "When problems can't be solved legally, he makes them disappear. If he's involved..."

"She's planning something terrible," I finished. "We need to warn someone."

"Who can we trust?" Gideon ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "The FBI team is compromised, the local police are in my mother's pocket, and the prosecutors don't know us from Adam."

A thought struck me. "There is someone. My former handler before Calhoun—Director Sarah Chen. She's incorruptible and has the authority to override Travers."

With renewed purpose, we formed a new plan. Using the secure landline, I placed a call to the FBI field office, insisting on speaking only to Director Chen. After an agonizing wait and multiple security verifications, her voice came on the line.

"Bennett? I thought you were in protective custody."

"The custody was compromised," I explained rapidly, outlining the morning's events and our suspicions about Travers and the courthouse.

Chen's response was immediate and decisive. "Stay where you are. I'm dispatching a team I personally vouch for. We'll secure the courthouse and intercept Travers."

"We need to be there," Gideon insisted. "Our testimony is crucial."

After a brief argument, Chen reluctantly agreed to have her team escort us to the courthouse once they cleared the security threat.

As we waited for Chen's team, Gideon pulled me into his arms. "Whatever happens today," he murmured against my hair, "know that you've given me something worth fighting for."

I leaned into his embrace, drawing strength from his solid presence. "We're going to win this," I whispered. "For our child, for your father's legacy, for all those people in the trials."

"For us," he added, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. "I love you, Harper Bennett. I should have said it sooner."

The words I'd been feeling but hadn't dared express finally found voice. "I love you too."

Our kiss was both tender and fierce—a promise, a declaration, a moment of connection before the storm that awaited us.

When Chen's team arrived thirty minutes later, we were ready—united, determined, and finally acknowledging what we had become to each other through this ordeal. Not just allies or lovers, but partners in the truest sense.

As we prepared to leave for the courthouse, Gideon took my hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "No more running," he said. "Today, we face her together."

"Together," I echoed, stepping into the armored vehicle that would take us to our final confrontation with Margot Blackwood.