Chapter 2

The annual "Fleet Week" charity regatta was the perfect stage for our grand exit. Hosted by the Lester family on their massive yacht, the Legacy, it was the highlight of the New York social calendar. The chaos of hundreds of guests, the press, the Coast Guard presence-it was the perfect cover.

"The catalyst has to be Molly," Rosalynn stated, her mind sharp and strategic. We were in her private study, maps of the Hudson River spread across the antique desk. "We need a public fight. Something messy, something everyone will remember."

Getting Molly Clarkson on the yacht was easy. Rosalynn simply had the event coordinator add her to the VIP list, citing a need to "build bridges" in the finance community. Ethan would see it as a power move. He wouldn't suspect a thing.

The days leading up to the regatta were a blur of meticulous planning. Rosalynn, a master of logistics, handled the finances. She arranged for a series of wire transfers that would liquidate her offshore account, moving the funds through a complex web of shell corporations until they landed in two new, untraceable accounts under our new identities: Amelia Vance and Chloe Martin. I handled my own smaller, but still significant, portfolio, selling off stocks and converting them to cash and bearer bonds.

We also hired a private security firm, a discreet group of ex-military professionals recommended by a contact of Rosalynn's. For a hefty fee, they would provide a "patrol craft" that would be waiting for us in the dark waters of the Hudson. They were experts in extractions.

The night before the event, Rosalynn and I sat in my apartment, overlooking Central Park. We had our go-bags packed, containing passports with our new names, burner phones, and enough cash to last us for weeks.

"Are you scared?" I asked her.

She looked out at the glittering city lights. "I'm terrified, Gabrielle. But I'm more terrified of living one more day as a fool."

She turned to me, her expression serious. "Once we step on that boat tomorrow, there's no going back. We become ghosts. We leave everything and everyone behind."

"They don't deserve us," I said, the anger solidifying into resolve. "They made their choices."

"Yes, they did," she agreed. "And now, we're making ours."