Chapter 2 The Blueprint

# Chapter 2: The Blueprint

Victor hadn't changed in the five years since I'd seen him last. Still the same weathered face, salt-and-pepper beard, and eyes that missed nothing. We sat across from each other in a booth at Denny's—neutral territory, far enough from my neighborhood that we wouldn't be recognized.

"You look like hell, kid," he said, stirring his coffee. No pleasantries, no small talk. It was what I'd always appreciated about him.

"I've been better." I watched Emily at the counter, chatting animatedly with the waitress about the display of pies. Even now, she was creating a distraction, giving us space to talk. Sometimes I worried that my daughter had inherited too much of my analytical mind.

Victor's eyes followed mine. "She's grown. Smart like her mama."

"Too smart," I agreed. "She sees everything."

He nodded, then leaned forward. "So. You didn't call me after five years of radio silence to catch up. What's going on, Zoe?"

I slid Daniel's iPad across the table. Victor raised an eyebrow but took it, tapped the screen, and watched the video without changing his expression. When it finished, he handed it back wordlessly.

"That's not all," I said quietly. I pulled out my phone and showed him the banking app. "He's been moving money. Large amounts. Offshore accounts."

Victor's eyes narrowed. "Getting ready to bolt?"

"Or setting up for a divorce where I get nothing." I locked the phone. "Emily and I would be collateral damage. He'd make sure I had no career to fall back on, no resources."

"You're not just leaving," Victor observed after a long pause. His gaze was penetrating. "You're burning it all down."

I didn't deny it.

He sighed heavily. "Zoe, you were my best student. You know what happens when people get emotional, make decisions based on revenge."

"This isn't emotion," I said calmly. "It's calculation."

Victor rubbed his jaw, considering me. "What do you need from me?"

"Information. And possibly an alibi."

He didn't flinch. After thirty years as a detective, Victor Ramirez had seen the worst humanity had to offer. He'd taught me that sometimes justice and the law weren't the same thing.

"Tell me your plan," he said finally.

I shook my head. "Not yet. First, I need to know about Daniel's cases. The ones that might have made him dangerous enemies."

Victor's eyebrows shot up. "You're looking for someone to blame."

"I'm looking for plausibility," I corrected. "The perfect accident requires perfect context."

Emily returned then, sliding into the booth beside me with a chocolate milkshake. "The waitress said I could have extra whipped cream," she announced proudly.

Victor smiled at her, the stern lines of his face softening. "Your mom used to love those when she worked with me."

Emily's eyes widened. "Mom worked with you? Doing what?"

I realized with a pang that my daughter knew almost nothing about my life before her birth. Daniel had been thorough in erasing that part of me.

"Your mom was the best forensic analyst I ever met," Victor told her. "Could tell you how a person died just by looking at the pattern of blood on a wall. Could find DNA evidence other techs missed."

Emily looked at me with new eyes. "Like on those detective shows?"

"Better," Victor said. "Those shows get it all wrong."

"Why did you stop?" Emily asked me.

The question hung between us. I couldn't tell her that her father had systematically isolated me, made me believe my only value was as his wife and her mother. That would come later, when she was old enough to understand.

"Sometimes we make choices for the people we love," I said carefully. "But that doesn't mean we can't make different choices later."

Emily seemed to accept this. She pulled a napkin toward her and began to doodle with the pen Victor offered. I watched as she sketched with surprising precision for her age—a tall building with flames erupting from its upper floors.

"That's Daddy's special work building," she explained, seeing my expression. She added a small stick figure falling. "Gas leaks are loud," she observed casually. "But accidents happen."

Victor and I exchanged a glance over her head. My daughter had been listening, watching, absorbing everything. Like me, she'd learned to appear compliant while her mind worked independently.

"Emily, honey, why don't you go see if they have any of those activity books at the front?" I suggested. Once she was out of earshot, I turned to Victor. "She knows more than she should."

"Kids always do." He tapped the napkin drawing. "This isn't healthy, Zoe. Whatever you're planning, involving your daughter—"

"I'm not involving her," I cut in sharply. "I'm protecting her. Daniel is... worse than you know." I hesitated, then rolled up my sleeve to reveal the fading bruises on my upper arm. "He's careful. Never my face, never where anyone might see. It started after I questioned the money transfers."

Victor's expression hardened. "You've documented this?"

"Everything. Photos, dates, recordings." I pulled my sleeve down. "But you know how these things go, Victor. He's Daniel Carter. Respected attorney, generous philanthropist. I'm the unstable wife who gave up her career. Who would believe me?"

"I believe you," he said simply.

For the first time since I'd discovered Daniel's betrayal, I felt tears threatening. I blinked them away. "I need to disappear. Properly. With Emily. New identities, new location."

"That takes money."

"I have access to his emergency cash. For now." I lowered my voice. "But I need to make sure he can't follow us. That he has... other concerns."

Victor studied me for a long moment. "The penthouse. The one in the video."

I nodded.

"Gas line?" he asked, glancing at Emily's drawing.

"Too obvious on its own," I replied. "But combined with other factors... pre-existing building code violations, evidence of his affairs, the offshore accounts..."

"You're setting up a perfect storm," Victor concluded.

"I'm ensuring my daughter's safety," I corrected. "And my own."

Victor reached across the table and took my hand. "Zoe, listen to me. Once you cross this line—"

"He crossed it first," I said quietly. "When he put his hands on me. When he threatened to take Emily if I ever left."

Emily returned then, proudly clutching an activity book and crayons. We ate pancakes while she colored, the conversation turning to lighter topics. To anyone watching, we might have looked like a normal family—grandfather, mother, daughter enjoying a weekend breakfast.

As we were leaving, Victor pressed a small package into my hand. "Burner phone. My number's programmed in it. When it's time, call me."

I nodded, slipping it into my purse.

Back in the car, Emily buckled herself into her booster seat. "I like Uncle Victor," she declared. "He knows you're smart."

"He's a good friend," I agreed, starting the engine.

My phone buzzed with a text message. Daniel's name appeared on the screen, along with words that sent ice through my veins:

*We need to talk. Tonight.*

He knew something. The question was: how much?