Chapter 8 - THE THIRTY-EIGHTH FLOOR
Elias wanted me to stay behind.
This time, he was right.
I hated him for being right.
Marcus’s team left within ninety seconds.
Police were notified, but Elias refused to wait for bureaucracy because a six-week-old baby was inside a hotel suite with Grant Miller.
I remained in the penthouse with Emma and Rose.
Lydia stayed too.
So did one female security officer named Tasha.
I sat in front of a live audio channel while Elias rode downtown.
No video.
Only voices.
Elevator.
Footsteps.
Marcus giving quiet instructions.
Then Elias.
“Thirty-eighth floor.”
My pulse matched the elevator chime.
I held Rose.
Lydia held Emma beside me.
“Breathe,” Lydia whispered.
I did.
Barely.
Marcus’s voice came through.
“Suite is at end of hall.”
Then another voice.
Hotel security.
“Mr. Vance, NYPD says wait.”
Elias answered.
“There’s an infant inside with a man who attempted to murder her aunt.”
“Sir—”
A crash.
Then shouting.
My heart stopped.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered me.
The audio erupted with movement.
A woman screamed.
Rebecca.
Then Grant.
“Get back!”
I stood.
Lydia grabbed my arm.
“Ava.”
Through the speaker, I heard a baby crying.
Rebecca’s baby.
Alive.
Thank God.
Marcus shouted.
“Grant, put the child down!”
My entire body turned cold.
He had the baby.
“No.”
Elias’s voice came through, terrifyingly calm.
“Grant.”
“What?”
“You don’t want to hurt that child.”
Grant laughed.
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I know exactly what you want.”
“What’s that?”
“Time.”
Silence.
Elias continued.
“You’re waiting for Whitmore.”
Grant laughed again.
“You think you’re smart.”
“I think Whitmore already left you.”
Silence.
Marcus whispered something I couldn’t hear.
Elias kept talking.
“He took the service elevator twelve minutes ago.”
Grant’s voice changed.
“Liar.”
“He emptied an offshore account this afternoon.”
“No.”
“He’s gone.”
“No.”
“You were never his partner, Grant.”
Elias’s words cut cleanly.
“You were the disposable piece.”
The baby cried louder.
I covered my mouth.
Then Rebecca spoke.
“Grant, please.”
“Shut up.”
“Give me my daughter.”
“I said shut up!”
A thud.
Rebecca cried out.
I stood so quickly the chair fell.
“Elias!”
I knew he could hear me through the channel.
He answered without taking his attention off Grant.
“I’m here.”
“Bring that baby home.”
A pause.
Then:
“I will.”
Grant heard me.
“Ava?”
His voice changed completely.
“Ava, is that you?”
I stared at the speaker.
“Yes.”
“You did this.”
Something strange happened.
For years, Grant’s anger had made me smaller.
This time, it didn’t.
“No.”
I shifted Rose against my chest.
“You did.”
“You embarrassed me.”
“No.”
“You gave me daughters.”
“You got daughters.”
“You ruined the agreement!”
“There it is.”
Silence.
I felt Elias listening.
Everyone listening.
“What agreement, Grant?”
He realized too late.
“Nothing.”
“You wanted a son because Whitmore promised you money.”
“Shut up.”
“Say it.”
“Shut up!”
“You knew you weren’t their biological father.”
Silence.
I kept going.
“You knew before I got pregnant.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“You blamed me for infertility when you were infertile.”
“AVA!”
I did not flinch.
“You had Whitmore steal someone else’s genetic material.”
Silence.
“That’s enough,” Grant said.
“You tried to switch one of my babies.”
“Enough!”
“You beat me because your plan failed.”
His voice exploded.
“I DIDN’T BEAT YOU!”
The room went silent.
Then he made the mistake we had needed.
“I told Damon and Luis to scare you!”
My eyes closed.
He had confessed.
Not fully.
But enough.
Elias’s voice stayed calm.
“And dumping her beneath the overpass?”
Grant breathed heavily.
“She was supposed to be found.”
“By whom?”
“Someone.”
“Who?”
“No one was supposed to die.”
The words came out too fast.
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
Marcus spoke quietly.
“We got it.”
Recorded.
Grant realized.
“You’re recording me.”
Elias answered.
“Yes.”
Then everything happened at once.
Rebecca screamed.
The baby cried.
Grant shouted.
A gunshot cracked through the speaker.
I screamed.
The audio went dead.
For five seconds, I heard nothing.
Then static.
Then Marcus.
“Secure!”
My knees nearly collapsed.
“Elias?”
No answer.
“Elias!”
The connection returned.
He was breathing hard.
“I’m here.”
I started crying.
“The baby?”
“Alive.”
“Rebecca?”
“Alive.”
“You?”
A pause.
“Fine.”
I knew immediately that he wasn’t.
“Elias.”
“It’s not serious.”
“What happened?”
Marcus answered instead.
“Grant fired. Mr. Vance took a graze across the shoulder.”
My eyes closed.
“What about Grant?”
“Custody.”
“Police?”
“Just arrived.”
I sat down.
For the first time since my daughters were born, my body released some tiny piece of fear.
Grant was in handcuffs.
Rebecca’s baby was alive.
Rebecca was alive.
Then I remembered Whitmore.
“Where’s Charles?”
Silence.
Marcus answered.
“We don’t know.”
That relief vanished.
Whitmore was still free.
And men like Charles Whitmore did not build empires by staying for the consequences.
Forty minutes later, Rebecca entered the penthouse carrying her daughter.
Her face was bruised.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Neither of us knew how sisters who had never met were supposed to greet each other after nearly being destroyed by the same men.
So we did the simplest thing.
We hugged.
Her daughter was named Sophie.
She was tiny.
Healthy.
And she had no birthmark behind her ear.
Elias came in behind them with his shoulder bandaged beneath his shirt.
I stood.
“You said graze.”
“It is.”
“You were shot.”
“Technically.”
“Do not say technically.”
Rebecca almost laughed.
It was the first normal sound in days.
Then Marcus entered.
His expression ended it.
“We found Whitmore.”
Elias turned.
“Where?”
“JFK.”
“Leaving the country?”
“Trying.”
“Destination?”
“Zurich.”
I felt relief.
“They arrested him?”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He never boarded.”
Elias’s eyes narrowed.
“What happened?”
Marcus held out a tablet.
Airport footage showed Charles Whitmore entering a parking garage.
Then getting into a black sedan.
“He changed cars.”
“Where is he now?”
“We lost him near Queens.”
My skin went cold.
Then Tasha’s voice came from the nursery hallway.
“Mr. Vance?”
Everyone turned.
She was holding something.
A white envelope.
My name was written across it.
AVA.
Again.
I stared.
“Where did that come from?”
“It was beneath one of the bassinets.”
Silence.
Elias took it.
Inside was a single card.
He read it.
His face changed.
“What?”
I took it from him.
Three sentences.
GRANT WAS ALWAYS THE AMATEUR.
THOMAS BENNETT COST ME MILLIONS.
NOW HIS DAUGHTERS WILL PAY THE BALANCE.
I looked toward the nursery.
Then down.
Emma’s bassinet.
Rose’s bassinet.
My blood froze.
“How did he get inside?”
No one answered.
Because suddenly we understood.
Charles Whitmore had never been trying to escape.
He had been trying to make us believe he was running.
May you like
And somewhere inside Elias Vance’s fortress, someone was helping him.
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