The laundry room was the only place in the massive estate where the noise was chaotic enough to mask a whisper. The industrial dryers tumbled rhythmically, creating a wall of sound.
Victoria Vance checked the hallway, then closed the door. She reached into the pocket of a winter coat hanging on the rack–where she had stashed the burner phone Maya had smuggled in via the water delivery crate.
She dialed the number for the London safe house.
“Victoria?” Isabella Moretti’s voice was breathless on the other end.
“It’s me,” Victoria said, pressing the phone tight to her ear. “We don’t have long. Alistair has cameras in the living areas. He’s trying to provoke William into a fight so he can declare him unstable.”
“He’s doing the same here,” Isabella replied. “The audit team is tearing the office apart. Malcolm is holding them off, but they’re freezing our assets. They found the toy soldier in the crib, Victoria. He knows where we sleep.”
“Listen to me,” Victoria commanded, her voice steel. “If he escalates–if he touches the children–we trigger the ‘Storm Protocol.’ I have an offshore account Dominic set up for me during the ‘Silent Winter.’ It’s untouchable. If the signal comes, you take the baby and run to the safe house in Zurich. We will meet you there.”
“The mothers protect the line,” Isabella whispered, a pact forming across the ocean. “I’m ready.”