The darkness felt physical.
My knees buckled, and I fell against the steel wall.
Another contraction began before I could stand.
Outside, Quentin had cut power to the local controls, hoping to erase the signal before it transmitted again.
But the independent circuit had its own battery.
The distress alert continued pulsing to Gabriel’s console.
Quentin pulled harder at the wires.
A voice behind him said, “You always were careless when you panicked.”
Quentin froze.
Gabriel Vale stood at the end of the corridor with two security officers.
Behind them, paramedics pushed a stretcher and emergency equipment toward the freezer.
For the first time that night, Quentin looked afraid.
“Mr.
Vale,” he said.
“There’s been an equipment accident.”
Gabriel’s gaze dropped to the open control panel, the cut wires, and the tool case at Quentin’s feet.
“Step away from the door.”
“My wife is inside,” Quentin said, suddenly raising his voice.
“I just found her.
We need to get her out.”
Gabriel held up his phone.
From its speaker came Quentin’s recorded voice: “The policy pays triple for an accidental death.”
Every trace of color vanished from Quentin’s face.
The security officers moved toward him.
He stepped backward and lifted both hands.
“You don’t understand.
She’s confused.
She’s been under pressure because of the pregnancy.”
The recording continued.
“Two million dollars can provide a pretty nice future.
Better than drowning in four hundred thousand dollars of gambling debt.”
Quentin turned toward the freezer door as if he could somehow force the sound back inside it.
Gabriel spoke quietly.
“You used my system to confess to murdering your wife.”
“She isn’t dead.”
The sentence escaped Quentin before he could stop it.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.
“No,” he said.
“And that appears to disappoint you.”
One officer restrained Quentin while the second opened the emergency equipment case.
The lock had been manually reinforced, and the interior release was missing, so they could not simply enter a code.
They began cutting through the external locking assembly.
Inside, I heard metal strike metal.
At first, I thought Quentin had returned to finish what he started.
I dragged myself away from the door, holding the thermal liner around my stomach.
Then someone shouted through the steel.
“Isabella! Security is outside.
We’re opening the door.”
I could not answer loudly enough.
I struck the floor with my shoe.
Three weak taps.
A pause.
Then three taps answered from outside.
I pressed my forehead to the door and cried for the first time.
The rescue took twenty-three minutes.
To me, it felt longer than the entire night.
