Chapter 6 - The Trap on Lake Shore Drive
The victories in court were grand, but the shadows of a wounded animal are always the darkest.
Three weeks had passed. The penthouse on Gold Coast had been transformed. White marble floors were now dotted with colorful woven rugs, sketchbooks lay open on the coffee tables, and the kitchen smelled constantly of cinnamon, roasted chicken, and baking flour.
Alexander had hired a private tutor for the girls, set up a grand piano in the living room for Luma, and spent his evenings sitting on the floor teaching Maya how to build wooden architectural models.
For the first time in their lives, the four sisters felt what it meant to live without waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Then came the rainy Tuesday in late November.
Alexander was in a high-level board meeting at his corporate headquarters when his personal phone—a device only four people had the number to—began to buzz violently on the mahogany table.
He picked it up immediately. "Alexander."
"Alexander!" Clara’s voice came through the speaker, breathless, terrified, amidst the roar of wind and rain. "He took us! He lied to the security guard at the school gate!"
Alexander stood up so fast his leather armchair flipped backward, crashing against the floorboards. The six corporate executives in the room froze in shock.
"Clara! Where are you?!" Alexander growled, his face turning into a mask of terrifying fury as he sprinted toward his private office door.
"We're in a black van... Arthur’s driver took us to the old boathouse on Lake Shore Drive!" Clara’s voice was muffled, as if she were hiding beneath a seat. "He said he’s taking us to a private airfield... he has passports—"
A harsh, scuffling noise echoed through the line, followed by Arthur Kane’s cruel, frantic voice taking over the phone.
"Vance!" Kane snarled, heavy rain drumming against his vehicle roof. "You ruined me! The feds froze my accounts! I have no money left, but I still have the girls! Their trust fund releases fifty million the moment they turn eighteen, and I am taking them out of this country tonight! If you call the police, I swear to God I'll drop this van into the lake!"
The call went dead.
Alexander stood in the hallway, his breathing heavy, his knuckles white as he gripped his phone so hard the glass screen cracked beneath his thumb.
Marcus ran up behind him, holding a tablet. "Alexander! The GPS tracker on Clara’s phone just pinpointed them! The old Belmont Harbor boathouse!"
"Call the police," Alexander said, his voice dropping into a register so cold, so terrifyingly calm that Marcus took an involuntary step back. "Tell them to send every unit in the city. But tell them if they put sirens on, I will destroy their department."
"Alexander, what are you going to do?!"
May you like
Alexander pulled his heavy charcoal coat from his office hook, his grey eyes flashing like steel blade edges in the dim light.
"I'm going to go get my daughters," Alexander said.
