Chapter 4 - Playing with Fire
The rain was pouring in sheets as James’s black SUV tore through the streets of Burlington. Catherine sat in the passenger seat, her face pale, her hands wringing a wet tissue.
"Where would Eleanor take her?" Catherine asked, her voice cracking. "She's only twelve, James. She must be terrified."
"Eleanor has a private estate just over the New York border, near Lake Placid," James said, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "It’s secluded. She uses it for private business meetings. She’ll keep Lucy there until she forces you to sign the paperwork, and until she forces me to resign at the board meeting tomorrow."
"She’s a monster," Catherine whispered.
"She's a Wright," James said bitterly. "And I'm sorry, Catherine. I'm so sorry I brought this plague upon your life."
Catherine looked at him. Really looked at him. For the first time in fifteen years, she didn't see the arrogant billionaire. She saw the boy she had fallen in love with in the music conservatory—the boy who had been terrified of his father, but who had once looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
"Let’s just get our daughter," she said softly.
Two hours later, the SUV pulled up to the iron gates of the Wright estate in Lake Placid. The gates were locked, a security guard standing in a small stone booth.
James didn't slow down. He rammed the heavy SUV straight into the iron gates.
The metal groaned and buckled, the gates swinging open with a violent screech. The security guard yelled, but James accelerated up the winding, tree-lined driveway toward the massive stone mansion.
He slammed the brakes in front of the main entrance, throwing the car into park. He and Catherine leaped out, running up the stone steps.
James didn't knock. He kicked the heavy oak door open.
Inside, the grand foyer was quiet, the air smelling of beeswax and woodsmoke. Standing at the top of the double staircase was Eleanor, holding a glass of sherry.
"James," Eleanor said, her voice smooth and untroubled. "You always were dramatic. Damaging private property? Really?"
"Where is she, Eleanor?" James roared, stepping into the foyer.
"She is upstairs, sleeping," Eleanor said calmly. "And she is perfectly safe. Much safer than she was in that damp basement apartment her mother provided."
Catherine stepped forward, her voice shaking with rage. "Give me my daughter, you psycho!"
"Your daughter?" Eleanor sneered, walking down the stairs. "You mean the illegitimate child you're using to blackmail my stepson? I've already contacted Child Protective Services, Catherine. They agree that a woman working minimum wage, living in a condemned building, is unfit to raise a child of the Wright bloodline. Once you sign these papers," she held up a folder, "we will settle a trust fund on you, and Lucy will be raised in proper boarding schools. Where she belongs."
"I'll die before I sign anything," Catherine hissed.
"Then you will go to prison for extortion," Eleanor replied coldly. "I have fabricated enough evidence to make sure of it."
James stepped between them, his eyes dark with a dangerous quiet. "You think you've won, Eleanor? You think this company is everything to me?"
"It is everything to you, James. You're just like your father. You won't let a street rat and her mother ruin your legacy."
James reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it and pressed a button, turning the screen toward Eleanor.
It was a live stream. And the viewer count was already in the hundreds of thousands.
"I’ve been streaming this entire conversation, Eleanor," James said, his voice deadly calm. "Every word you just said about fabricating evidence, about kidnapping a twelve-year-old girl, about blackmailing her mother—it's currently being broadcast to every major news outlet in New England. My PR team has already sent the raw audio to the FBI."
Eleanor’s face drained of color. The glass of sherry slipped from her hand, shattering on the marble floor. "You... you wouldn't. You'll destroy the firm's stock! You'll destroy your own net worth!"
"I don't care about the money," James said, and for the first time in his life, he meant it with every fiber of his being. "I lost the only thing that mattered fifteen years ago. I'm not losing them again."
From the top of the stairs, a small voice broke the silence.
"Mom?"
Lucy stood there, clutching her battered violin case to her chest, her eyes wide with fear and hope.
"Lucy!" Catherine cried, running up the stairs and throwing her arms around her daughter. Lucy sobbed into her mother's shoulder, holding onto her tightly.
James walked up the stairs, standing beside them. He looked down at Lucy, his heart swelling with a warmth he had never known.
"Are you okay, Lucy?" he asked gently.
May you like
Lucy looked up at him. She saw the tears in his eyes. She saw the protective way he stood in front of her mother. "I'm okay," she whispered. "Did you... did you come to save us?"
James nodded. "I did. And I'm never going to let anyone hurt you again."
