“We are taking him to the university medical center,” one of the paramedics told me.

“He is severely malnourished, but his vitals are stable.”

“I am coming with you,” I said, refusing to let go of my father’s hand.

“Go with him, Emily,” Charles said, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“I have business to finish here, and then at the restaurant.”

“What about Trevor?” I asked, a cold knot of anger tightening in my stomach.

“He will not escape,” Charles promised, his eyes turning to steel.

“My team has already blockaded the Crystal Oak.”

I rode in the back of the ambulance, the red lights flashing against the frosted windows.

The sound of the siren echoed off the frozen concrete buildings of the city.

My father held my hand the entire way, his grip weak but persistent.

“They told me you died in the factory fire, Dad,” I said, wiping my eyes with a paper towel.

“They set the fire to cover up the toxic waste spill,” my father whispered.

“When I threatened to go to the EPA, Julian Bellamy had me taken.”