Chapter 11 - Finding Temporary Sanctuary In A Remote New England Hideout
Agent Miller decided it was no longer safe to stay within the Chicago city limits as federal marshals patrolled local transit hubs.
We drove through the night, crossing state lines into the dense, foggy pine forests of rural New England.
A secluded stone cabin nestled beside a freezing mountain lake served as our temporary command center away from prying eyes.
The air was crisp and smelled of pine needles and damp earth, offering a stark contrast to the sterile boardrooms of Manhattan.
I sat on the front porch wrapped in a thick wool blanket, watching the mist rise slowly off the dark water surface.
My phone remained locked in a Faraday bag to prevent any digital tracking by the Blackwood private security network.
Miller walked out onto the porch holding two mugs of hot coffee, handing one to me without a word.
“The forensic team cracked David’s hard drive an hour ago,” Miller broke the silence.
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“And?” I asked, turning my head to look at him with bated breath.
“We have the exact timestamp of every forged signature, including the one Grant forged on your prenuptial addendum.”
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