Chapter 7 - The Syndicate's LedgerThe smell of rubbing alcohol and bleach was suffocating inside the supply closet. My back was pressed hard against a shelf of stacked bedsheets, and a heavy, gloved hand still clamped tightly over my mouth.
"Listen to me very carefully, old woman," the man whispered against my ear, his breath hot and smelling of cheap tobacco. "You stepped into something much bigger than a family dispute. Julian and Victoria were deep in debt to people who don't care about family ties. That girl was our collateral."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I tried to bite down on the hand covering my mouth, but the man merely grunted, tightening his grip until my jaw ached.
"Victoria is already on a flight out of O'Hare," the man continued, his voice dangerously smooth. "Julian took the fall like a good soldier, but the contract on the child remains active. Unless..."
He paused, letting the silence stretch out like a razor blade.
"Unless what?" I managed to force out past his fingers, my voice muffled and raspy.
"Unless you hand over the bearer bond certificate Julian hid in your house before he was arrested," the man hissed. "The four-million-dollar bearer bond issued by the Vanguard Trust. Where is it?"
My mind raced. A bearer bond? Julian had hidden something in my house?
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," I gasped out.
The man let out a low, humorless laugh. "Bad answer. You have until sunrise to find it. If you don't, the next time your granddaughter wakes up in a box, she won't be coming out."
With a sudden, violent shove, he hurled me backward into a stack of linen boxes. The shelves collapsed with a thunderous crash, burying me in an avalanche of cotton sheets.
I scrambled out from under the pile, coughing and gasping for air, and threw open the closet door.
The hallway was completely empty.
The two guards were just beginning to stir, groaning and rubbing their heads.
"Chloe!" I shrieked, terror gripping my soul. I spun around and sprinted down the corridor toward Room 412, throwing the door open.
The bed was empty.
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The IV line hung limply from its metal stand, swinging gently back and forth in the sterile breeze of the open window.
Chloe was gone.
