Chapter 4 - The Threat Escalates
By noon the next day, the illusion of quiet safety began to crack.
I woke up in a massive king-sized bed wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets. For a few brief seconds, I forgot where I was. Then I saw the floor-to-ceiling view of Manhattan and remembered: Grant was gone. We were free.
I walked out into the grand living room wearing a plush bathrobe provided by the hotel.
Dominic was sitting at the glass dining table, clad in a crisp dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, displaying silver watches and strong, tattooed wrists. A fresh spread of pastries, fruit, and coffee sat before him, alongside three open laptops and a legal tablet.
“Good morning, Nora,” he said, looking up with a subtle, handsome smile that made my stomach do a strange, pleasant flip. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I have in years,” I admitted, sitting across from him. “Where’s my mother?”
“Still sleeping. Dr. Vance said her nervous system has been running on high alert for so long that her body is demanding rest.” Dominic poured a cup of black coffee and slid it toward me. “However, your stepfather has not been sleeping.”
My hand froze over the coffee cup. “What did he do?”
Dominic turned one of the laptops toward me.
On the screen was a live security feed of the bookstore where I had worked for the past three years. Standing on the sidewalk outside was Grant. He was wearing the same rumpled suit from the night before, holding a paper coffee cup, and screaming at my manager, Mr. Abernathy, while two uniformed police officers stood nearby.
“He called the precinct at 8:00 AM,” Dominic explained calmly, taking a sip of his espresso. “He filed a missing persons report for your mother, claiming she has early-stage dementia and that you manipulated her into leaving. He also told the officers that I kidnapped you both at gunpoint from Élan.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “He’s using the police? He knows Mr. Abernathy will fire me if there’s a public scene at the store!”
“He already fired you, Nora,” Dominic noted gently. “Grant told your manager that you stole five thousand dollars from the register before fleeing. Abernathy panicked and terminated your employment contract twenty minutes ago.”
Tears of frustration stung my eyes. “That bast*rd! He knows that job was my only source of independent income! He’s trying to strip away everything so I have nowhere else to go!”
“Let him try,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, dark tone. “Grant thinks he’s playing chess in a neighborhood park. He doesn't realize he’s standing on a active minefield.”
Dominic reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick, black leather folder, sliding it across the table to me.
I opened it. Inside were dozens of bank statements, property deeds, and internal audit reports bearing Grant’s full legal name: Grant Edward Holloway.
“What is this?” I asked, scanning the numbers.
“Grant isn't just a drunk and a bully, Nora,” Dominic revealed, leaning back in his chair. “He’s a failed investor who owes three hundred thousand dollars to an illegal offshore gambling ring operated by Viktor Petrov—a disgraced former mobster who operates out of Brighton Beach.”
I gasped, looking up from the pages. “Grant has three hundred thousand dollars in gambling debt? How? He always told my mother he was making smart trades on Wall Street!”
“He was using your mother’s house in Queens as collateral,” Dominic said coldly. “He forged her signature on a second mortgage six months ago. The bank was twenty days away from foreclosing on your home.”
The room seemed to spin. All those years my mother worked sixty hours a week as a legal secretary, believing Grant was providing for us, while he was quietly signing away our roof to pay off his underground debts.
Suddenly, my phone—which had been sitting on the table—began to vibrate violently.
The caller ID displayed: GRANT.
I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Dominic reached out, placing his warm hand over mine. “You don't have to answer it, Nora. I can have my team handle him permanently.”
I looked at the vibrating phone, then at the bandage on my wrist, and finally into Dominic’s dark, encouraging eyes.
A new feeling—a sharp, fiery surge of anger—replaced the paralyzing fear that had controlled me for twelve years.
“No,” I said firmly, reaching out and sliding the green answer button. “I’m taking this call.”
I put the phone on speaker.
“Nora?!” Grant’s frantic, raspy voice exploded through the speakers. “Where the hell are you?! What did that maniac do to your mother?! You listen to me, you ungrateful little bitch—you get your ass down to the precinct right now and tell them you made up those lies, or I swear to God I’ll burn that house in Queens to the ground with everything you love inside it!”
May you like
I took a deep, steadying breath, my fingers gripping the edge of the table.
“The house isn't yours anymore, Grant,” I said, my voice cutting through the speaker like a diamond blade. “And neither are we.”
