Chapter 4 - THE FALSE NAME
She took Caleb.
The three words on my phone screen blurred. The air in the art studio grew incredibly thin.
“Evan, what is it?” Michael asked, stepping forward as the color drained from my face.
“Vanessa,” I gasped, sprinting for the door. “She took my son.”
I didn't wait for Michael. I flew down the stairs, burst out onto the Manhattan street, and threw myself into my car. The engine roared to life. My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.
I called the local police, my voice a terrifying mixture of a billionaire’s authority and a father’s utter desperation. I gave them Vanessa’s car description, her real name, and my son's details. Then I called Grace.
“Where did she go?” I barked the moment the line connected.
“I don't know,” Grace sobbed. I could hear the absolute devastation in her voice. “I locked the study door like you said. But she had a master key. She came in through the adjoining library. She had a stun gun, Mr. Whitaker. She hit me with it. By the time I woke up, they were gone. Sophie is safe, she hid under the desk, but Caleb—”
“Grace, breathe,” I said, forcing myself to remain analytical, even as my heart shattered. “Is anything else missing?”
“Yes,” Grace said, her breath hitching. “The music box. The wooden one Anna used to play for Caleb. Vanessa took it from the nursery.”
I slammed on the brakes as traffic gridlocked on the bridge.
Why the music box? Vanessa had millions of dollars in jewelry in her bedroom. She had access to bearer bonds. Why kidnap a three-year-old and steal a wooden music box worth less than fifty dollars?
My phone beeped with an incoming call from an unknown number.
I answered it immediately. “Vanessa.”
“Hello, Evan,” her voice purred through the speakers, remarkably calm, entirely stripped of the terrified fiancé act. It was the voice of a predator. “I see you found Anna’s little secret file. I assume Michael is running my real name right now.”
“If you hurt one hair on his head, there isn't a hole deep enough for you to hide in,” I said, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
“Oh, Caleb is perfectly fine. He’s sleeping,” Vanessa said smoothly. “But he won't be for long if you don't do exactly as I say. I want the bearer bonds from your home safe, and I want the silver key. Meet me at the old shipyard in Stamford in one hour. Come alone. If I see Michael, or the police, the little boy joins his mother.”
“Why?” I demanded, the agony bleeding into my voice. “Why are you doing this? What is in the music box?”
Vanessa laughed, a cold, hollow sound. “You really are blind, Evan. You spend so much time building your empire, you never look at the foundation. Ask Grace about the music box. Ask your brave little housekeeper why she really came to work for you.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone. I merged onto the shoulder of the highway, tearing past the stalled traffic, breaking every speed limit.
I dialed Grace again.
“Grace,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Who are you really?”
May you like
Silence stretched over the line. Then, a shaky sigh.
“My maiden name is Hutton,” Grace whispered, her voice breaking. “Vanessa is my older sister. And she didn't just meet your wife, Mr. Whitaker. She was driving the car that ran Anna off the road.”
