Chapter 7 - The Billionaire's Fury
In the Vance penthouse, Harrison was tearing through the security room like a hurricane.
"Where is she?" he roared at his head of security, a former federal agent named Frank Calder. "I pay eight hundred thousand a year for integrated perimeter monitoring, and a nine-year-old child walked out of my service entrance without a single chime on the console?"
"Sir, she used the freight stairwell fire exit—it doesn't trigger the silent alarms during daytime maintenance windows," Calder said, his face pale as he punched keys on the multi-monitor display. "She's been gone for ninety minutes."
"Harrison, please, let the police handle it," Eleanor said, sitting stiffly on the leather sofa, though her voice had lost its confident edge. The look on Harrison’s face was one she had never seen before—a cold, feral calculation that made even her seasoned arrogance wither.
"If the police handle it, she ends up in a county holding facility under Marcus Cole’s name," Harrison said, his voice dropping into a register that made the room vibrate. "Frank. Call the precinct commander in the 6th. Call the transit authority. I want every private security patrol we contract in Lower Manhattan pulled off corporate buildings and put on street sweeps. Offer twenty-five thousand dollars cash to any taxi driver, delivery rider, or bodega owner who spots her."
"Harrison, the board will revolt—" Eleanor began.
Harrison turned on his stepmother with such sudden, terrifying speed that she flinched against the cushions.
"I own fifty-one percent of Vance Global, Eleanor. If one hair on Lillian’s head is harmed because you drove her out of this house with your poison, I will liquidate your family trust, strip your board seat by six tonight, and leave you with the clothes on your back. Do not test me today."
He turned back to Calder. "Her phone? Did we give her a device?"
"No, sir," Calder said. "She refused to take one. But..."
"Speak, Frank!"
"When she arrived at Mount Sinai, Ethan slipped his spare smartwatch into the front pocket of that grey hoodie she was wearing," Calder said, his eyes widening as he tapped his tablet. "The battery was at forty percent. The GPS is pinging off a cell tower on 14th and 9th Avenue. It's moving... no, wait. It stopped. It's stationary in the Meatpacking District."
Harrison didn't wait for his coat. He grabbed his keys from the console and ran for the private elevator.
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"Calder! Bring three units. Full medical response. If Cole or his animals are near her, don't wait for the NYPD. End it."
***
