Chapter 8 - The Price of Blood
The conference room on the twentieth floor was cold and sterile.
Ruth Callaway sat at the long table, wearing a cheap trench coat, her hair messy, her eyes bloodshot and frantic. Beside her sat a sleek, greasy corporate attorney named Harold Finch, who was holding a gold fountain pen.
When Donovan walked into the room flanked by Vance and Sarah Sterling, Ruth visibly flinched, shrinking back into her leather chair.
"Donovan Ree," Finch began smoothly, flashing a synthetic smile. "I represent Ms. Ruth Callaway, the legal and rightful guardian of Mave Callaway."
Donovan didn't sit down. He stood at the head of the table, his towering presence filling the room with overwhelming pressure.
"Ruth," Donovan said, ignoring the lawyer completely. "You abandoned a six-year-old girl in a public lobby with mismatched shoes and a single stuffed toy. You boarded a bus to Mexico to escape gambling debts."
"I... I had no choice!" Ruth stammered, her voice shaking with panicked excuses. "Victor Miller’s men were going to break my legs! I thought... I thought someone at a nice hotel would take care of her!"
"You left her like garbage," Vance growled from behind Donovan.
"My client is here to exercise her lawful parental rights," Finch interjected, tapping his pen on the table. "We are prepared to take physical custody of Mave immediately and leave the jurisdiction."
Donovan smiled—a slow, terrifying gesture that made Finch’s synthetic confidence instantly evaporate.
"Who is paying your fee, Finch?" Donovan asked smoothly. "Ruth doesn't have fifty dollars to her name. Who hired you?"
Finch cleared his throat nervously. "My client’s financial arrangements are protected by attorney-client privilege."
"Victor Miller’s remaining shell company in Panama paid you a twenty-thousand-dollar retainer two hours ago," Sarah Sterling announced, tossing a printout of the wire transfer onto the table. "Which makes you an accomplice to an ongoing conspiracy to defraud a minor heir."
Finch’s face turned bright red. He looked at the document, entirely caught off guard.
"Ruth," Donovan said, leaning across the table until he was inches from her face. "Miller is finished. His syndicate is dismantled. But if you try to take that child to deliver her to his remaining associates, I will ensure you spend the next twenty years in a federal prison for child endangerment and human trafficking."
Ruth burst into tears, covering her face with her trembling hands. "I don't want her! I never wanted her! Clara died and dumped her on me! I just want my debts cleared!"
The raw, ugly truth hung in the air, sickening and absolute.
"Name your price," Donovan said flatly.
Ruth looked up through her tears, her greed instantly rising to the surface. "Two million dollars. Cash. And a complete release from all debts connected to the Callaway estate."
"Done," Donovan said without a single second of hesitation.
Finch blinked, stunned. "Wait... just like that?"
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"On one condition," Donovan said, pulling a thick stack of adoption consent forms from Sarah’s briefcase. "You execute an immediate, voluntary termination of parental rights, sign full independent adoption consent to me, and leave this state forever. If I ever see your face in this city again, Ruth, the deal is void, and you go to prison."
Ruth grabbed the pen from Finch’s hand with desperate speed. "Where do I sign?"
