Chapter 3 - THE BLUE FOLDER
The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off the noise of the lobby, but the silence inside the cab was deafening.
I stared at Margaret, my blood running cold.
“What did you just say?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Margaret gripped the dented cake tin tighter. The elevator began its smooth ascent to the penthouse, but my stomach felt like it was plummeting to the basement.
“My husband, Thomas, didn't just see Arthur take the money,” Margaret said, her breath hitching. “Thomas kept a record. A blue ledger. It detailed every illegal payout the Harwoods made to the police, the inspectors, and the men who disposed of Richard’s father. Thomas hid it because he was terrified.”
“Margaret,” I interrupted, stepping closer to her. “Why did you say the proof is in my daughter’s backpack? How do you even know my daughter?”
Margaret looked up at me, her eyes filled with a desperate apology.
“Because your ex-husband, Mark, was the one who finally found the ledger last week,” she said.
My heart stopped.
Mark.
My deadbeat ex-husband, who hadn't paid child support in three months, worked as an independent contractor doing maintenance for properties owned by the Harwood estate.
“Mark came to my apartment four days ago,” Margaret continued, the numbers on the elevator display climbing higher. “He was doing plumbing repairs. He found the loose floorboard where Thomas hid the ledger forty years ago. He realized what it was. He realized it could destroy Arthur Harwood.”
“So he’s blackmailing him,” I said, the realization hitting me with sickening clarity. Mark never did anything unless there was a payout involved.
“Yes,” Margaret nodded. “But Mark was scared. He knew Harwood was dangerous. He didn't want to keep the ledger at his place. So yesterday, when he picked up Emily from school for his visitation afternoon...”
“He slipped it into her backpack,” I finished, my voice trembling with rage.
Mark had used our sixteen-year-old daughter as a blind mule to hide extortion material against a billionaire murderer.
The elevator chimed. Floor 42. The Penthouse.
The doors slid open.
Richard Cole was waiting for us in the foyer of the suite, holding a glass of water. He took one look at my face and set the glass down.
“What’s wrong?” he asked instantly.
Before I could answer, my cell phone vibrated violently in my coat pocket.
I pulled it out.
The caller ID said Emily.
I answered it immediately, my hands shaking. “Em? Honey, where are you?”
“Mom?” Emily’s voice was tight, high-pitched with panic. “Mom, I’m at the hotel. I’m in the basement parking garage.”
“Why are you at the hotel? You’re supposed to be at home!”
“Dad brought me,” Emily said, a sob breaking through her words. “He said he needed to get something out of my backpack. But then these two men in suits came out of the elevator. They grabbed Dad. They shoved him into a black SUV.”
I stopped breathing. “Emily, where are you right now?”
“I’m hiding behind the dumpsters by the loading dock,” she cried. “Mom, one of the men is looking for me. He has a gun. He keeps asking where the blue folder is.”
“Listen to me, Emily,” I said, my voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. “Do not move. Do not make a sound. I am coming down right now.”
I hung up the phone and looked at Richard.
“Arthur Harwood’s men just kidnapped my ex-husband in the parking garage,” I said. “And they are hunting my daughter for a blue ledger.”
Richard’s face hardened into granite. The billionaire executive vanished, replaced by the fourteen-year-old boy from the streets who knew exactly how dangerous powerful men could be.
He didn't call hotel security. He knew Harwood owned them.
He pulled his own cell phone from his pocket and pressed a single speed-dial button.
“Get the car to the loading dock,” Richard barked into the phone. “And bring the lockbox.”
He looked at me. “Let’s go get your daughter.”
We left Margaret in the penthouse, locking the heavy doors behind us.
Richard and I took the service elevator down to the basement.
When the doors opened to the loading dock, the air smelled of exhaust and damp concrete. The massive space was dimly lit, shadows stretching behind industrial trash compactors and concrete pillars.
“Emily!” I hissed, staying low, moving behind a stack of wooden pallets.
“Well, well,” a smooth, arrogant voice echoed through the garage.
I froze.
Stepping out from behind a concrete pillar was Arthur Harwood.
He was in his late sixties, wearing an immaculate tuxedo meant for the reception upstairs. But his eyes were dead, cold, and entirely devoid of humanity.
Standing next to him was a massive man in a dark suit, holding Emily by her arm.
She was clutching her faded green backpack to her chest, her face stained with tears.
“Let her go, Arthur,” Richard said, stepping out from the shadows, his voice echoing with absolute authority.
Arthur smiled, a thin, cruel line across his face.
“Richard Cole,” Arthur drawled. “The boy from the slums who made good. I heard you were causing a scene in my lobby.”
“It’s not your lobby anymore, Arthur,” Richard said, walking slowly forward. “I know about the ledger. I know you killed my father.”
Arthur didn't flinch. He just tightened his grip on his gold-handled cane.
“Your father was a nobody, Richard,” Arthur said dismissively. “He was a loose end. Just like this girl’s father.”
He nodded to the man holding Emily.
The man ripped the green backpack from Emily’s arms.
“Mom!” Emily screamed.
“Give me the ledger,” Arthur demanded, holding out his hand to the suited man.
The man unzipped the backpack. He reached inside.
But when he pulled his hand out, he wasn't holding a blue folder.
He was holding a crumpled eviction notice addressed to Margaret Ellis.
Arthur frowned. “Where is the ledger?”
Before anyone could move, the heavy steel doors of the loading dock violently rolled open.
A black SUV roared into the garage, its high beams blinding Arthur and his man.
The driver’s door swung open, and David Klein—my spineless, terrified former manager—stepped out, holding a heavy tire iron.
May you like
And tucked under his left arm was a faded blue leather folder.
“I have the ledger, Mr. Harwood,” David said, his voice shaking but surprisingly loud. “And if you don't let that girl go, I’m giving it to the police.”
