Chapter 6 - The Dark Before Dawn
The fallout from Ethan's live interview was catastrophic. By midnight, Senator Hastings was forced to suspend his re-election campaign, and the FBI had launched a formal investigation into Eleanor Montgomery for corporate fraud and campaign finance violations.
But a cornered animal is always the most dangerous.
The next afternoon, the weather turned violent. A severe Midwestern thunderstorm rolled into Chicago, turning the sky a bruised purple and pouring sheets of blinding rain over the city.
My nanny had taken the boys to an indoor private play center on the north side earlier that morning. Growing anxious about the storm and the rising political tension, I dialed her number.
It went straight to voicemail.
I tried again. And again. Nothing.
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. I called the play center. The manager answered, his voice strained. "Miss Vance? Yes, your nanny was here, but she left about twenty minutes ago. A private car came to pick them up. She said it was sent by Mr. Montgomery's office because of the weather."
My blood turned to ice. Ethan hadn't mentioned sending a car.
I called Ethan immediately, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. "Ethan! Did you send a car for the boys? Did you?"
"No," Ethan’s voice went instantly alert, the background noise of his office fading. "Sophia, what's wrong? I'm in a board meeting."
"They're gone," I choked out, tears finally breaking through. "Someone sent a fake car. They took the boys and Maria. Ethan, oh my god, your mother..."
"Sophia, listen to me," Ethan’s voice was suddenly right in my ear, steady, commanding, and filled with an absolute, terrifying focus. "I am turning on the GPS trackers I placed in the boys' matching tuxedos for the wedding. I had my security team sew them into the linings just in case. Stay exactly where you are. I am coming to get you."
Ten minutes later, Ethan burst into my penthouse. He was soaked from the rain, his tie gone, his eyes wild but sharp. He held up his tablet, showing a blinking red dot moving rapidly toward an industrial shipping yard near Lake Michigan—property owned by a subsidiary of Hastings Industries.
"My mother is trying to get them out of the state before the FBI arrests her," Ethan said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the elevator. "She thinks she can use them as leverage to force me to drop the charges and fund her escape."
"If she hurts them, Ethan, I swear to God—"
May you like
"She won't," Ethan vowed, slamming his hand against the elevator button. "Because I am going to tear that place apart with my bare hands if I have to."
As we drove through the blinding rain, the engine of Ethan's SUV roaring against the thunder, I looked at his profile. In the darkness of the storm, he didn't look like a CEO or a wealthy heir. He looked like a father going to war for his pack. And for the first time in four years, I felt completely safe beside him.
