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"I said, pull over now!" Alexander roared, the absolute authority that had built Bennett Enterprises into a global empire cracking to reveal a desperate, terrified father. / Chapter 4 / 8

Chapter 4 - Falling From Grace

The screech of tearing metal echoed over the water. Inside the SUV, the airbags had deployed. Smoke filled the cabin.

Alexander groaned, shaking his head to clear the fog. He looked to his right. Thomas was crying but seemed unhurt. Clara was unconscious, a small trickle of blood running from her temple.

"Frank!" Alexander called out.

Frank did not answer. He was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious.

The SUV groaned, tilting a fraction of an inch further over the edge of the bridge. The front wheels were suspended in mid-air. One wrong move, and they would plunge a hundred feet into the icy depths of the river.

Footsteps approached the shattered window.

Alexander looked up to see the lead mercenary from Fifth Avenue. He was holding an iron crowbar. He smashed the remaining glass of the passenger window and looked inside, his eyes landing on Clara.

"The old man wants his property back," the mercenary said coldly.

"She is my daughter!" Alexander roared, trying to unbuckle his seatbelt, but the mechanism was jammed.

"She is a loose end," the mercenary corrected. He reached into the car to grab Clara's collar.

Suddenly, a loud siren blared in the distance. The mercenary paused, cursing under his breath. The NYPD was arriving, alerted by the massive pileup on the bridge.

"Change of plans," the mercenary muttered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, magnetic black box, slapping it onto the underside of the SUV’s dashboard. A red light began to blink rapidly.

"Five minutes, Mr. Bennett," the mercenary said with a grim smile. "Let's see if you can swim."

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The ambulance siren wailed in the distance, a rising shriek that cut through the rainy night like a knife. I didn't wait for them. I held Arianne against my chest, feeling the terrifyingly erratic rhythm of her pulse, and bolted down the grand mahogany staircase.

The ambulance siren wailed in the distance, a rising shriek that cut thr...

The heavy cabin door hissed shut behind me, sealing in the scent of expensive cologne, manufactured corporate harmony, and betrayal. As I stepped back onto the sun-baked tarmac of the private aviation terminal, the stifling afternoon heat hit me like a physical blow. Behind the thick, tinted glass of the jet's windows, I could see Carter’s silhouette—his jaw set in that familiar, arrogant angle of a man who believed he had just successfully disciplined a disobedient pet.

The heavy cabin door hissed shut behind me, sealing in the scent of expe...

Warren Voss stepped out from the shadow of the mahogany foyer, his silk robe catching the ambient light of the crystal chandelier. His expression carried the lazy, casual irritation of a man whose evening had been mildly inconvenienced by a stray dog, not the towering gravity of a situation where an old farmer stood on his porch holding a notched aluminum bat.

Warren Voss stepped out from the shadow of the mahogany foyer, his silk...

He turned and ran, disappearing into the oncoming traffic before the police could arrive.

Alexander looked at the blinking red light. It was a thermite charge. It would burn through the engine block and melt the entire car—and everyone inside—in less than five minutes.

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