Chapter 2: The Ambush at 4B
The ride to the South Bronx in William's sleek, bulletproof SUV was completely silent. Emma kept her face pressed against the tinted glass, watching the clean luxury of the Upper East Side morph into the broken asphalt and crowded stoops of her neighborhood.
William looked at his laptop, but for the first time in his career, the numbers on the screen wouldn't form a pattern. He kept looking at the rearview mirror, watching the little girl protectively shielding the sleeping baby.
When they arrived at the run-down apartment building, the smell of damp concrete and old radiator fluid hit William’s senses. He had grown up in a place like this before his tech patents made him a billionaire, and the memory made his jaw tighten.
They climbed the four flights of stairs. Emma pushed open the door to apartment 4B, her voice calling out anxiously, "Grandma? Grandma, I brought food! A nice man helped us."
No answer.
William stepped into the cramped, freezing apartment. His eyes immediately took in the empty formula cans, the bare shelves, and the absolute lack of heat. He strode past Emma into the small bedroom.
Martha Reynolds lay on the mattress, her skin a terrifying shade of gray, her breathing shallow and rattled.
"Grandma!" Emma cried, dropping to her knees and grabbing the old woman's cold hand. "Grandma, wake up, please!"
William dropped his expensive wool coat onto the floor and immediately knelt beside the bed, checking Martha's pulse. It was thready. Faint. "She’s in severe diabetic shock or respiratory failure," William said, dialing his private medical dispatch line. "This is William Parker. I need an advanced life support ambulance at 1442 Southern Boulevard, Apartment 4B. Now. You have five minutes."
Within ten minutes, paramedics flooded the tiny apartment, hooking Martha up to oxygen and lifting her onto a stretcher. Emma stood in the corner, clutching Noah so tightly the baby began to fuss, her chest heaving with silent, terrified sobs.
Just as the paramedics were wheeling Martha out, the front door of the apartment flew open.
A woman with smeared makeup, a cheap fur jacket, and a designer purse stepped inside. It was Mrs. Wilson—the neighbor who had abandoned Noah four months ago.
"What is going on here?" Mrs. Wilson gasped, looking at the EMTs, then at Emma, and finally at William. Her eyes widened as she recognized William from the business magazines. "Wait... you're William Parker! What are you doing in this dump?"
"Who are you?" William asked, his voice dripping with immediate hostility.
"I'm the legal guardian of that baby!" Mrs. Wilson lied smoothly, stepping forward and reaching out to snatch Noah from Emma’s arms. "Emma, give him to me. You people have neglected him! I came back to get my nephew, and look at this chaos. Mr. Parker, these people took my baby and wouldn't give him back. I’m going to sue them for everything they have!"
Emma shrank back, terror in her eyes. "No! You left him! You stopped answering the door! Grandma spent her last money on his diapers!"
Mrs. Wilson sneered, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. "I have his birth certificate right here. He’s mine. And if the famous William Parker is involved, I think the media would love to know how a billionaire is letting a baby starve in the Bronx."
William stepped between Mrs. Wilson and Emma, his massive frame completely blocking the woman. A cold, lethal smile spread across his face—the look his competitors saw right before he ruined them.
"You want a payout, don't you?" William whispered.
May you like
"I want what's fair for my trauma, Mr. Parker," she smiled greedily.
"Excellent," William said, pulling out his phone and hitting record. "Tell me exactly how much money it will take for you to sign over full, permanent legal custody of that child to me, right now."
