Chapter 4 - The Trap is Sprung
The trap was executed with brutal, calculated precision.
It started on a Thursday afternoon. Mara received an emergency call from Rory’s preschool. The voice on the other end was frantic, claiming that Rory had fallen from the playground equipment and was being rushed to the hospital.
Panic, raw and blinding, seized Mara. She dropped her phone, grabbed her purse, and ran out of the building, failing to notice the dark SUV idling across the street.
When she arrived at the hospital, the reception desk had no record of any child named Rory Carter.
"No, that’s impossible!" Mara screamed, her voice echoing in the sterile hallway. "They called me! They said she was hurt!"
Suddenly, her phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. She answered it with shaking hands.
"If you want to see your little brat again, you’ll do exactly as I say," a rough, male voice static-charged through the speaker. "Go to the abandoned warehouse on Pier 42. Come alone. If we see a single cop, or a single one of Kane's men, the kid goes into the harbor."
The line went dead.
Mara felt her knees give way. She wanted to call Vincent, but the threat was clear. If his men were spotted, Rory would die. She couldn't risk it.
Hailing a cab, she gave the driver the address, her heart screaming in her chest. Please, God, let her be okay. Take me, just don't hurt my baby.
Meanwhile, back at Kane Enterprises, Vincent walked out of his office and noticed Mara’s desk was empty. Her purse was gone, but her computer was still logged in. A half-written email stood on the screen.
"Where is Mara?" Vincent asked his secretary.
"She received a call about Rory, sir. She looked terrified and ran out."
Vincent’s brow furrowed. He immediately dialed the director of Rory’s preschool—a school he secretly funded to ensure the highest security.
"Is Rory Carter there?" Vincent asked without preamble.
"Yes, Mr. Kane. She’s currently in the art room, drawing. Why do you ask?"
Vincent’s blood turned to ice. "Keep her inside. Lock the doors. Do not let anyone near her."
He hung up and immediately dialed Marco. "Trace Mara’s cell phone signal. Now. And get the cars ready. We’re going on a hunt."
Within ten minutes, Marco had the location. "Boss, she’s heading toward the old docks. Pier 42. It’s abandoned territory."
"Who owns it?" Vincent asked, his voice dead and terrifying.
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"Technically? A shell company," Marco said, reading his tablet as the black SUVs tore through the city streets. "But the paper trail leads directly to Victoria Vance’s private estate."
Vincent looked out the window, his eyes reflecting the cold city lights. "She chose the wrong game. And she chose the wrong prey."
