Chapter 4 - The Stolen Son
The world inside the Drake Hotel ballroom dissolved into absolute chaos.
Graham didn't wait for the elevator. He shoved through the emergency exit doors, taking the concrete stairs four at a time, with Claire sprinting right behind him despite her heavy velvet gown.
“Claire! Get in the vehicle!” Graham roared as they burst out into the rain-slicked alley behind the hotel where his dark, armored Escalade sat idling with three armed guards.
“I’m coming with you!” Claire yelled back, kicking off her high heels right there in the alley and throwing them into the trash bin. She tore a strategic slit up the side of her emerald dress so she could run freely, her hazel eyes blazing with raw, maternal fury. “I know what Owen told me! I know where Everett takes things!”
Graham looked at her—barefoot on the wet pavement, her hair wild from the wind, her eyes fierce with an absolute refusal to abandon his son. Something deep inside Graham’s chest cracked wide open. He grabbed her hand, pulled her into the back seat of the heavy SUV, and slammed the door shut.
“Drive!” Graham commanded the driver. “Seventy miles an hour! Run every light!”
The heavy engine roared to life, tires screaming as the armored vehicle rocketed out into the Chicago rain.
Inside the cabin, Graham pulled a tactical tablet from the central console, tracking the estate’s secondary GPS feeds. “Ethan! Report!”
“Boss,” Ethan’s voice crackled through the comms line over the sound of wind and distant sirens. “The intruders used an insider security override code to disable the interior motion sensors in the nursery wing. They knew the exact shift change window. They knocked out the two hallway guards with stun gas and dragged Owen out through the conservatory window.”
Claire grabbed Graham’s forearm, her mind racing back through every conversation she had shared with the eight-year-old boy over the past twelve days.
“The fox!” Claire gasped suddenly.
Graham turned his head sharply toward her. “What?”
“The blue wooden fox!” Claire said, her voice rising with urgent clarity. “When Owen threw the toy at the wall yesterday and the key fell out, I saw him pick up the broken wooden pieces and put them in his jacket pocket! He carries that fox everywhere, Graham! It has a chipped ear and a cracked belly!”
“What does a broken toy have to do with where they took him?” Graham asked, his hands shaking as he pulled a tactical sidearm from beneath his seat.
“Owen told me something four days ago when he was hiding under his desk!” Claire explained rapidly, her eyes locked onto Graham’s. “He said, ‘Mr. Sloan’s secret place has horses and blue water.’ I asked him what he meant, and he said Mr. Sloan took him to a cabin near a lake last summer while you were in New York!”
Graham’s eyes widened in realization. “Silver Lake. Michigan.”
“Does Hawthorne Continental own property there?” Claire asked.
“No,” Graham said, his voice darkening into pure thunder. “Hawthorne Continental doesn't. But four years ago, Everett set up an unlisted holding company under a dead driver’s name to acquire a secluded private estate on the northern shore of Silver Lake.”
Claire’s eyes flashed with absolute certainty. “Thomas Morgan’s name.”
“Yes,” Graham growled. He tapped the driver’s shoulder violently. “Reroute to the private helipad on 8th Street! Call the flight crew! Get the Sikorsky prepped for immediate departure!”
As the SUV slammed through a red light toward the helipad, Claire reached into the vehicle’s tactical storage compartment, pulling out a dark rain jacket and wrapping it around her emerald velvet dress.
Graham watched her, his chest heaving with adrenaline, rage, and an overwhelming surge of reverence for the woman beside him. He reached out, his large hand wrapping securely around her wrist.
“Claire,” Graham whispered, his voice trembling slightly with an emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. “If anything happens to me tonight—”
“Nothing is happening to you,” Claire interrupted firmly, leaning closer until her face was inches from his. She placed her warm palm directly over his heavy heart. “We are getting Owen back. Together. Do you hear me, Graham? Together.”
May you like
Graham stared at her, his dark eyes softening for a fraction of a second amidst the storm. He pulled her hand to his lips, pressing a hard, fervent kiss against her knuckles.
“Together,” he vowed.
