Chapter 5
I screamed so loudly the entire hallway stopped.
Rachel grabbed my phone.
“Oh my God.”
Richard stared at the picture.
“Call the police.”
Martin already was.
I could barely hear him.
Everything inside me had narrowed to Emma’s frightened face.
Her pink dress.
Her curls.
Her little hands gripping the seat belt.
“She’s in a car.”
Rachel was crying now.
“This is my fault.”
“No.”
“I looked away.”
“Rachel, no.”
Richard barked orders at security.
“Lock every exit. Pull the parking garage footage. Find Vanessa.”
One guard spoke into his radio.
Another ran.
My phone buzzed again.
Do not call police.
I typed immediately.
Where is my daughter?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Bring the letter to the old Whitmore warehouse on River Street.
Alone.
I showed Richard.
“No,” he said immediately.
I looked at him.
“She has my child.”
“We don’t know that Vanessa sent this.”
“Who else knows about the letter?”
He had no answer.
Martin returned.
“Police are on their way.”
The phone buzzed again.
If I see police, you will never see Emma again.
I felt physically sick.
Richard reached for the phone.
I pulled it away.
“Don’t.”
“Claire, listen to me.”
“No. You listen to me.”
My voice shook.
“This happened because of your family.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“Your daughter knew who Emma was.”
“I know.”
“She tried to steal her trust.”
“Yes.”
“She threatened me.”
Richard nodded once.
“And if Vanessa has her, I will spend everything I have getting her back.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Neither did Evelyn.”
“Stop saying my mother’s name like that fixes anything!”
He flinched.
Good.
I was furious.
Terrified.
I needed someone to blame.
And the woman who deserved most of it wasn’t in front of me.
Martin stepped between us.
“The warehouse is twelve minutes away.”
Richard looked at him.
“It’s abandoned.”
“Not completely. Whitmore owns it through a subsidiary.”
I stared at him.
“Vanessa knows it?”
“She managed redevelopment planning last year.”
Of course.
I grabbed my purse.
Richard blocked me.
“Where are you going?”
“To get my daughter.”
“You cannot go alone.”
“The message says alone.”
“Kidnappers lie.”
“So do rich families apparently.”
He swallowed.
I regretted the words for half a second.
Then another image arrived.
Emma again.
This time someone’s hand was holding my mother’s old photograph beside her.
The photograph had been in my purse.
I checked.
My wallet was there.
Keys.
Lipstick.
But the small photograph of Mom I always carried was gone.
Someone had taken it during the fight.
The message read:
I know exactly who you are.
Martin spoke quietly.
“This was planned.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
“That photograph.”
He pointed at the screen.
“The person who took Emma had access to you before she disappeared.”
I thought back.
The crash into the wedding table.
Security.
Guests.
Vanessa grabbing my hair.
My purse had fallen.
Anyone could have touched it.
Then I remembered something.
A woman had helped pick up my belongings.
Vanessa’s assistant.
Blonde.
Black dress.
She had smiled at me.
“I’ve got your phone.”
I could see her face perfectly now.
“What is Vanessa’s assistant’s name?”
Richard looked at me.
“Melissa Grant.”
“Show me a picture.”
Martin searched quickly.
He turned the screen.
It was her.
“That woman touched my purse.”
Richard’s eyes hardened.
“Melissa notarized the false declaration.”
Martin called the detective and gave him her name.
I paced.
“I’m going.”
“Claire.”
“Richard, move.”
He didn’t.
I looked him in the eyes.
“If Emma were Vanessa at five years old, would anything stop you?”
That broke him.
He stepped aside.
But Martin raised a finger.
“You go, we follow at a distance.”
“The message says alone.”
“They don’t need to know.”
“I’m not risking Emma.”
“Then take this.”
He removed his smartwatch.
“What is it?”
“Location tracker. Silent.”
I shook my head.
“If they search me—”
“Put it in your shoe.”
Richard was already on the phone.
“I’ll get you a car.”
“No Whitmore car.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ll recognize it.”
Rachel grabbed my hand.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“I’m not letting you—”
“You’re staying here.”
“Claire.”
“If Emma gets back here before I do, I want you waiting.”
Rachel broke down.
I hugged her.
“This isn’t your fault.”
“She called for you.”
“I know.”
“I should have held her hand.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“If we start blaming ourselves, Vanessa wins.”
Richard gave me keys to an employee’s sedan.
Before I left, Martin handed me a photocopy of Mom’s letter.
I frowned.
“The original?”
“In my briefcase.”
“No.”
“We shouldn’t give them the original.”
The message had said bring the letter.
It hadn’t said original.
I took the copy.
Then I drove.
Every red light felt like an insult.
Every slow car made me want to scream.
I kept seeing Emma’s face.
I remembered the morning she was born.
Her father, Michael, had died before she ever knew him.
A drunk driver.
I had held her in the hospital and promised her that even if our family was small, she would always be safe.
Now she was somewhere with people who hated her because of money she didn’t understand.
I whispered into the empty car.
“Mom, help me.”
The old warehouse appeared beside the river.
Brick.
Broken windows.
Faded WHITMORE INDUSTRIAL lettering above the loading entrance.
I parked.
My phone buzzed.
Come inside.
I looked around.
No cars.
No people.
I stepped out.
The September air smelled like rain and river water.
Inside, the warehouse was dark except for one hanging work light.
“Emma?”
Nothing.
I moved deeper.
“Emma!”
A small cry echoed.
“Mommy!”
I ran.
“Emma!”
Then a man stepped from behind a pillar.
I stopped.
He was huge.
Gray jacket.
Baseball cap.
“Give me the letter.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“Letter first.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“Don’t make this difficult.”
I backed away.
“You show me Emma.”
A second figure appeared.
Melissa Grant.
Vanessa’s assistant.
She was holding Emma’s hand.
My daughter saw me.
“Mommy!”
She tried to run.
Melissa jerked her back.
I saw red.
“Let her go.”
“Give us the letter.”
“Emma, are you hurt?”
She shook her head, sobbing.
“I want to go home.”
“I know, baby.”
Melissa looked nervous.
Far more nervous than the man.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I stared at her.
“You kidnapped my child.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re holding her.”
“Vanessa said we just needed to scare you.”
There it was.
I kept my voice calm.
“Where is Vanessa?”
Melissa shook her head.
“She’s not here.”
“Then call her.”
“No.”
The man stepped closer.
“The letter.”
I pulled the folded photocopy from my purse.
His eyes focused on it.
“Let Emma walk to me.”
“Give it here.”
“One step at a time.”
He smiled.
“You watch too many movies.”
“And you kidnap too many children.”
His smile disappeared.
I held the pages up.
“If anyone touches Emma, I tear it.”
Melissa gasped.
The man stopped.
“Don’t.”
I tore the top inch.
He cursed.
“Okay.”
He nodded at Melissa.
“Let the kid go.”
Melissa hesitated.
“Vanessa said—”
“I don’t care.”
Emma pulled away.
“Mommy!”
She ran.
I dropped to my knees and caught her.
Her whole body was shaking.
I kissed her face over and over.
“I’m here.”
“I was scared.”
“I know.”
“I wanted you.”
“I’m here now.”
The man held out his hand.
“The letter.”
I stood with Emma behind me.
I tossed the copy across the concrete.
He grabbed it.
Then his expression changed.
“This is a copy.”
My stomach dropped.
Melissa stared.
The man looked at me.
“Where is the original?”
“Safe.”
He took two fast steps toward us.
Then police sirens exploded outside.
Melissa screamed.
The man spun around.
“You brought cops!”
“I didn’t.”
Technically, I hadn’t.
He ran toward the back of the warehouse.
Police entered through the loading doors.
“Police! Hands where we can see them!”
Melissa dropped to the floor.
I covered Emma with my body.
Officers rushed past us.
Someone shouted.
A crash followed.
Then another.
Within seconds, Melissa was handcuffed.
The man was caught near the river exit.
I didn’t care.
Emma was in my arms.
That was all that mattered.
A detective approached slowly.
“Claire Carter?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Harris.”
“Vanessa Whitmore.”
“We’re looking for her.”
“Find her.”
“We will.”
Emma refused to let go of me.
An ambulance checked her.
No injuries.
Just fear.
That should have made me feel better.
It didn’t.
When Richard arrived, he stopped several feet away.
His face crumpled when he saw Emma.
“She’s okay?”
I nodded.
He sat down hard on a wooden crate and covered his face.
For the first time, he didn’t look like a billionaire.
He looked like a father who had finally understood what his daughter had become.
Detective Harris took my statement.
Then Melissa started talking.
Fast.
She claimed Vanessa had promised her fifty thousand dollars to obtain the letter.
She claimed the kidnapping wasn’t planned.
They had intended only to bring Emma outside and use her to force me into handing over the document.
That distinction meant nothing to me.
Then Harris asked something that made Melissa stop talking.
“Where was Vanessa going tonight?”
Melissa stared at the floor.
“I don’t know.”
The detective leaned closer.
“You’re facing serious charges.”
Melissa started crying.
“She said she had to get to Evelyn’s house before Claire did.”
My blood went cold.
“My mother’s house?”
Richard looked at me.
“Is it still in the family?”
I nodded.
Rachel and I had never sold it.
We rented it occasionally, but it had been empty for three months.
Martin’s face changed.
“The ownership document.”
I understood immediately.
Mom said she had hidden it.
Vanessa wasn’t running.
She was searching.
Richard grabbed his phone.
“I’ll call the police in Ohio.”
But Detective Harris stopped him.
“Where is the house?”
I told him.
He made several calls.
Then looked at me.
“Local officers are heading there.”
My phone rang.
Rachel.
I answered.
“We found her.”
Rachel burst into tears.
“Emma?”
“She’s okay.”
“Oh, thank God.”
I closed my eyes.
Then Rachel said something else.
“Claire, someone called me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they say?”
There was a pause.
“They said Vanessa isn’t the person we should be afraid of.”
I looked at Richard.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Rachel’s voice trembled.
“They said your mother didn’t hide the deed from Vanessa.”
May you like
My stomach tightened.
“She hid it from Richard.”
