Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 115

Chapter 115

Catherine: POV

I thought they’d let me go.

I mean, I’m a Vanderbilt.

Old money. Connected. Important.

But no. They threw me in a fucking cell.

The walls are gray concrete. The bed is a metal slab with a thin mattress that smells like bleach and piss. There’s a toilet in the corner in the fucking corner-with no privacy, no door, nothing.

I can’t breathe in here.

I’ve been here three days.

Three days.

And every minute feels like a

The other women in here-they’re animals. One of them called me “Princess” when I walked past. Another spat on the ground near my feet.

I wanted to scream at them. Tell them who I am.

But my lawyer said to keep my mouth shut.

“Don’t make things worse, Catherine.”

Worse?

How could it possibly get worse?

They arrested Marcus and his crew the same night they arrested me.

I didn’t know that until the cop told me during booking,

“You and your three buddies are in deep shit, he said, grinning like it was funny.

I told him I had no idea what he was talking about.

He just laughed. “Sure you don’t, sweetheart.”

I was careful.

2:15 pm

Chapter 115

MA

I didy use my phone. I wasn’t that stupid.

I used payphones. Different ones each time. Scattered across the city.

One near Grand Central. One in Brooklyn. One outside a bodega in Queens.

I wore sunglasses. A baseball cap. Kept my head down.

How the fuck did they find me?

The detective who interrogated me-some smug asshole named Rodriguez-he spent weeks piecing it together.

“You were smart,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Using payphones. Different locations every time. No digital trail.”

He smiled.

That fucking smile.

“But smart criminals always make one mistake.”

My stomach dropped.

“We pulled footage from every security camera within a three-block radius of each payphone,” Rodriguez continued. “Traffic cams. ATM cams. Bodega

security. Even residential doorbell cameras.”

He slid a folder across the table.

Photos.

Me.

At every single payphone.

Baseball cap. Sunglasses. Same posture.

“Facial recognition software is a beautiful thing,” he said. “Even with the disguise, we got enough angles to confirm it was you.”

Fuck.

r

“Then we cross-referenced the timestamps with the call records to Marcus Boyle’s burner phone. Perfect match. Every single time.”

He pulled out another photo,

Me at a Starbucks.

“After you made the call near Grand Central, you stopped for coffee two blocks away. Used your credit card. Ten minutes after the call.”

I felt sick.

“We also found a partial fingerprint on one of the payphone receivers,” Rodriguez added. “You must’ve taken your glove off for a second.”

2/4

2:15 pm

MA

Chapter 115

He leaned forward.

“And then there’s Marcus Boyle. The second we showed him the evidence, he sang like a canary. Gave us everything. Your voice on the calls. The instructions. The money you promised

“I want my lawyer,” I whispered.

‘Oh, you’ll get your lawyer. He stood./”But it won’t matter. We spent three weeks building this case. We have surveillance footage. Call records. Forensic evidence. Witness testimony. Your motive.”

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