Chapter 1 - The Sanctuary in Tribeca
The wind coming off the Hudson River carried an icy bite as my SUV pulled up outside my Tribeca loft building.
Inside the back seat, the four little boys sat tightly squeezed together. They were quiet, their wide, gray-blue eyes taking in the glass and steel architecture of the penthouse tower. Mara sat beside them, her hands wrapped defensively around a worn canvas duffel bag. Her knuckles were white, her breath shallow.
"We shouldn't be here, Julian," Mara said softly, her green eyes flashing with a mix of pride and sheer exhaustion. "Your mother... if she finds out—"
"My mother doesn't know where I am," I interrupted, shifting in the front seat to look at her. "And right now, I don't care where she thinks I am. Look at the boys, Mara. They're shivering."
She looked down at Milo, who was resting his small head against his brother Mason's shoulder. Max and Micah were holding hands, staring up at the grand marble lobby visible through the tinted car windows.
"Just for tonight," Mara whispered, defeated. "Tomorrow morning, we leave."
"We'll talk about tomorrow when tomorrow comes," I replied.
I helped them out of the vehicle, guiding the four identical little boys through the private elevator foyer. When the doors slid open directly into my expansive, two-story living room, the children gasped in unison.
"Is this a castle?" Micah asked, his voice echoing against the high ceilings.
"It's just an apartment, buddy," I said, a strange, overwhelming warmth surging through my chest as I looked down at him. He had the exact same cowlick on the left side of his hair that I had struggled with every morning of my youth.
While Mara helped the boys take off their worn winter coats, my phone began vibrating relentlessly in my pocket.
Incoming Call: Victoria Whitaker (Mother)
I let it ring until it went to voicemail. Seconds later, a text flashed on the screen:
Julian! The Cartwrights are waiting in the conservatory! Where are you?! Stop playing games and get here NOW!
I silenced the phone and turned back to Mara. She was standing in the center of the living room, looking at a framed photograph on my mantle. It was an old photo from our college years—the two of us sitting on the grass near Columbia University, laughing under the autumn trees before my family forced us apart.
"You kept it," she said quietly.
"I never threw it away," I answered, walking over to stand beside her. "My mother told me you accepted five hundred thousand dollars from the family trust to pack your bags and leave New York forever. She showed me a bank transfer receipt with your signature."
Mara looked at me, her eyes filling with sudden, blistering tears. "She threatened to ruin my father's medical practice, Julian! She paid off his creditors, bought his debt, and swore she would put him in federal prison if I didn't vanish! I didn't take a single cent from your mother!"
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My throat locked tight. "What about the check?"
"It was forged," Mara cried softly, keeping her voice down so as not to scare the boys who were exploring the sofa. "I left because I was terrified. And two weeks after I reached Chicago... I found out I was pregnant with quadruplets."
