Chapter 4: The Syndicate
Elias stopped wiping the scrape on her knee. The only sound in the penthouse was the low hum of the refrigerator. He didn’t look shocked, nor did he offer empty platitudes. Instead, his jaw tightened, a muscle feathering beneath his skin.
"An auction," he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet.
Clara nodded, pulling the oversized sweater tighter around her frame. "They target women who don't have anyone looking for them. Runaways, orphans. I thought I was interviewing for a hospitality job overseas. When I realized what was happening, they locked me in the basement of that estate. Last night was the preview event for their buyers. It was my only chance to run."
Elias carefully packed the medical supplies back into the white plastic kit, his movements precise and deliberate.
"Do you know the name of the man running it?" he asked.
"They called him Sullivan," Clara whispered, shivering despite the warmth of the room. "He has a scar across his jaw. He told us he owned the local police, that running was useless."
Elias stood, carrying the kit back to the bathroom. When he returned, he leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms. "Sullivan is a ghost, a broker for the worst kinds of people. But ghosts leave footprints."
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Clara looked up, her brown eyes wide with a mixture of hope and renewed fear. "If he owns the police, how can you protect me?"
"Because," Elias said, his gaze unwavering, "I don't rely on the police. My family built a private intelligence firm a long time ago to deal with men exactly like Sullivan. You aren't just a survivor, Clara. You are a witness. And as long as you are under my roof, you are untouchable."
