Chapter 288: Chapter 288

Chapter 288

The high stone walls and heavy steel gates of the United States Embassy in Paris looked almost intimidating as Isabelle stepped off the sidewalk. Rain was still dripping from the hem of her jacket, her hair clinging messily to her neck, and her shoes squelched with every step she took toward the security checkpoint. She looked like a ghost standing among the neatly dressed diplomats and tourists lining up outside.

Two armed marine guards stationed at the bulletproof glass entry booth immediately straightened up, their hands resting on their belts as they watched her approach.

"Ma'am, you need to stand back behind the white line," the younger guard said through the small intercom speaker, his voice firm and cautious. "The consular section opens for appointments at nine o'clock."

Isabelle didn't stop. She pressed her hands against the cool metal bar of the security turnstile, her fingers shaking as she looked up at the guard. "Please," she choked out, her throat dry and raspy. "I need to see someone inside right now. Please help me."

"Ma'am, if you don't have an appointment or a valid passport, I need you to step away from the gate," the second guard said, moving closer to the glass. "We cannot let anyone inside without proper screening and identification."

"I don't have my passport! I don't have anything!" Isabelle pleaded, her voice rising in desperation as she gripped the gate. "I was kidnapped! I was abducted from Monterey, California, and brought into this country against my will. My name is Isabelle. Ariana reported me missing back home. Please, just check your computer. Just search my name!"

The two guards exchanged a quick, sharp look. The younger one stepped back into the guard station, pulling up the federal diplomatic database on his computer monitor. He typed in her full legal name along with the location she had given. Within three seconds, the screen flashed red with a high-priority alert.

A red federal missing person file popped up on the display, flagged directly by the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security, marked as an active cross-border abduction case filed by Ariana.

The guard's eyes widened. He hit the emergency intercom button on his console immediately. "Command Center, this is Gate Two. We have an active high-priority citizen recovery at the perimeter.

Code Red. Requesting diplomatic security escort to the main building right now."

The steel turnstile clicked unlocked. The second guard pushed the heavy gate open, stepping out to gently take Isabelle by the arm, guiding her inside out of the rain. "Miss, step inside right now. You're safe here. Nobody is going to touch you."

Within two minutes, three plainclothes Diplomatic Security Service agents came rushing down the wide stone steps of the embassy’s main building. They quickly ushered Isabelle into a secure private wing on the second floor, far away from the public waiting areas. The room was warm, carpeted, and quiet, furnished with a long oak table and soft leather chairs.

A female officer named Special Agent Miller brought Isabelle a warm blanket and a bottle of water, while a staff doctor was brought in to check her injuries.

"Your blood pressure is extremely low, and you're suffering from mild hypothermia," the doctor said gently as he wrapped a pressure cuff around her arm, cleaning the small cuts on her cheek and knuckles with antiseptic wipes. "You've been through severe physical trauma, Isabelle. We need to get you to a proper hospital setting."

"No hospital," Isabelle said firmly, wincing slightly as the doctor cleaned a deep scrape on her hand. She held her denim jacket tightly around her body, her inner pocket pressing against her ribs where the flash drive sat safe and untouched. "I don't want to go to a French hospital. I just want to go home. I need to get back to California."

Agent Miller pulled up a chair across from her, holding a thick yellow notepad. "Isabelle, I need you to listen to me carefully. Ariana filed an emergency missing person report with the Monterey Police Department the moment you disappeared. The State Department has been tracking this case for days. Can you tell us who took you? Do you know where you were being held?"

Isabelle swallowed hard, looking Agent Miller dead in the eye. "It was Sam Keystone's people. They took me from California and brought me to an estate in the countryside outside Paris. But I escaped last night."

She leaned forward, her fingers gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white. "Ethan... Ethan Castellan came to save me. He found where Sam was keeping me and got me out of that room. But Sam’s guards chased us through the woods toward the river, and Ethan got shot in the leg.

He sacrificed himself so I could run across the bridge and get away. Please, you have to do something! He was bleeding heavily, and I'm so worried Sam's men have captured him or worse. You need to send a team to those woods right now!"

Agent Miller’s face softened, but a dark, heavy shadow crossed her eyes. She slowly reached into her leather folder and pulled out a printed news article from two days ago, sliding it across the polished oak table toward Isabelle.

At the top of the paper was a large picture of Ethan, under a bold black headline that read: Ethan Castellan Confirmed Dead Following Tragedy.

"Isabelle, I need you to take a breath," Agent Miller said gently, her voice low and careful.

"This press release was officially issued by his father, Richard Castellan, forty-eight hours ago. The family has already held a preliminary memorial in Monterey. According to official reports, Ethan passed away days before you even reached France."

Isabelle stared at the photograph on the paper, her breath hitching sharply in her chest. She pushed the paper back across the table with a sudden, violent shake of her head.

"No!" Isabelle screamed, tears spilling over her eyelashes as she stood up from her chair. "That's a lie! His father is lying! Ethan is not dead! I was literally holding his hand six hours ago! I watched him bleed on that riverbank! He fought off Sam's guards with his own hands just so I could escape! He saved my life, do you hear me? He is alive, and he is out in those woods somewhere!"

Agent Miller exchanged a cautious look with the other agents in the room before standing up to rest a reassuring hand on Isabelle's shoulder. "Okay, Isabelle. Okay. We hear you. I am putting a call directly into the French Gendarmerie right now to dispatch search units to the Keystone perimeter near the river. We will have them check every inch of that ground."

For the next two hours, the embassy staff worked with remarkable speed. Because her name was verified under federal protection, they bypassed days of standard paperwork. A female staff member brought Isabelle a clean gray sweatshirt, dark sweatpants, and a pair of dry sneakers to replace her ruined, muddy clothes. Downstairs in the consular office, an official issued her a temporary emergency U.S. passport, stamping it with official government seals.

At eleven o'clock that morning, Agent Miller walked back into the private room, holding a folder containing flight documents.

"We have arranged a direct military consular transport flight leaving from Paris Orly Airport in one hour," Miller explained, handing Isabelle her temporary passport. "You will be flying under direct federal security protection straight back to California. Two federal marshals will be on the plane with you the entire time, and local authorities in Monterey will meet you on the tarmac when you land."

Isabelle took the passport in her trembling hands, staring down at her name on the paper. "What about Sam? What about Richard's lies?" she asked, her voice carrying a quiet, dangerous edge through her tears. "Is anyone going to make them answer for this?"

"Now that you're safe and under our custody, the Department of Justice is taking over," Miller replied calmly. "You don't need to worry about Sam Keystone right now, Isabelle. Your job is to get on that plane, go back home, and let the authorities handle the rest."

An hour later, an armored black SUV with tinted windows pulled out of the embassy courtyard under armed escort, speeding down the highway toward the airport runway where a private government aircraft sat waiting for her.

As the plane climbed high into the cloudy skies above France, heading west across the Atlantic Ocean toward America, Isabelle sat in her leather seat near the oval window, clutching the small black drive inside her pocket, her mind burning with one absolute truth: Ethan was alive, and she was going to tear down every single person who claimed otherwise the moment her feet touched the ground in Monterey.