Chapter 4 - Shadows at the Door
By 2:00 AM, James had personally carried a sleeping Chloe up the private elevator to the penthouse apartment on the fifth floor.
The apartment was stunning—warm hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing lights of Chicago, a massive brick fireplace, and a kitchen stocked with organic produce, fresh milk, and artisanal bread. In the master bedroom, James laid Chloe down on a plush king-sized bed covered in goose-down blankets. The little girl let out a soft sigh, nestling deep into the warmth.
Grace stood in the doorway, staring at the luxurious room in absolute disbelief. For the past two years, she and Chloe had lived in a damp, windowless basement room that smelled of mildew and coal smoke.
"I'll bring up your personal belongings from your old place tomorrow morning," James said, stepping out into the hallway.
"We don't have much," Grace said softly, walking beside him to the foyer. "Just two suitcases."
Before James could answer, a loud, sharp knocking echoed from the heavy mahogany door at the end of the corridor downstairs.
James frowned. The restaurant was locked from the inside. He checked his wrist watch: 2:15 AM.
"Stay here," James instructed quietly.
He took the private elevator down to the main dining room. Through the frosted glass of the front entrance, he could see the silhouette of a tall man in a heavy leather jacket banging his fist aggressively against the glass.
James unlocked the side door and stepped into the freezing night air, blocking the entrance with his broad frame. "The restaurant is closed."
The man turned. He was in his mid-thirties, with slicked-back dark hair, cold blue eyes, and a cruel, sneering mouth. He smelled heavily of cheap liquor and stale tobacco.
"I’m not looking for a steak, pal," the man spat, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "I’m looking for Grace Vance. I know she works here at night. Her landlord told me she didn't come home."
James narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"I’m Mark Vance," the man grunted, stepping closer. "Her husband. Well, ex-husband. She owes me fifty thousand dollars, and I know she's hiding her kid in there."
James’s jaw clenched. The man standing in front of him was the coward who had abandoned Grace and a sick infant three years ago.
"Grace doesn't live here, and she doesn't owe you anything," James said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "Get off my property."
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Mark let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Listen to me, big guy. Grace’s late father left a family trust in Normandy before he died. Grace thinks she’s poor, but I just found out her old man was worth millions. She doesn't know it yet, but I’ve got a court order granting me full legal guardianship over Chloe. Once I have the kid, Grace will sign over her father’s trust to me without asking a single question."
Mark patted the leather jacket where a stack of legal documents sat in an inside pocket. "So move out of my way, or I’ll have the cops here in five minutes charging you with child kidnapping."
