Chapter 4 - The Midnight Escape
"Through the basement!" Arthur barked, slamming his cane down. "There's an old coal tunnel that leads to the boat house on the river. Take my boat. Get to the city. Eleanor’s men won't expect you on the water."
"Arthur, come with us," Grant said.
"I'm an old man, Grant. I’m a distraction," Arthur said, his eyes fierce. "Go! Save your family. Bring down that monster."
Grant grabbed Milo and Mason, while Mara took Max and Micah. They bolted down a narrow spiral staircase just as the heavy oak front doors of the mansion were smashed open upstairs. Loud, authoritative voices echoed through the halls.
"This is the Illinois State Police! We have an emergency recovery order for four minors!"
Grant ran through the damp, dark concrete tunnel, the flashlight on his phone cutting through the gloom. The boys were terrified, but they didn't cry; they sensed the life-or-death stakes.
They reached the boat house just as the storm reached its peak. A sleek, covered speed boat was docked inside. Grant untied the lines, bundled the boys into the cabin, and helped Mara aboard. He jumped into the captain's chair and fired up the twin engines. The roar of the motor drowned out the sound of thunder.
He slammed the throttle forward, smashing through the wooden bay doors of the boat house and launching the vessel out into the turbulent, black waters of the river.
Behind them, flashlights illuminated the shoreline. Several men in dark suits ran out, firing flashbangs and flares into the water, but the boat was already pulling away, disappearing into the torrential rain.
Two hours later, shivering and exhausted, Grant docked the boat at an abandoned industrial pier near the Chicago Loop. The city skyline loomed above them like a jagged mountain range.
They hid in a grimy, 24-hour diner down the street. The boys were wrapped in oversized towels provided by a sympathetic waitress, eating pancakes in silent exhaustion.
Grant sat at the booth, his laptop open, connected to a secure VPN. His fingers flew across the keyboard.
"What are you doing?" Mara asked, her face pale, holding a hot cup of coffee.
"If we wait until morning to go to the Federal Reserve, my mother will have the building surrounded by private security and corrupt cops," Grant said, his eyes bloodshot. "We have to change the game. We can't play by her rules anymore."
"Grant, she controls the media too," Mara reminded him. "If you try to go public, she’ll kill the story before it airs."
"She controls the traditional media," Grant said, a dangerous smile appearing on his face. "But she doesn't control Brielle Cartwright."
Mara flinched. "Your fiancée? Why would she help us? I ruined her life. You humiliated her tonight."
"Brielle doesn't love me," Grant said honestly. "She loved the idea of the Whitmore fortune and the power it gave her family. But more than that, Brielle hates being lied to. And she hates my mother. Eleanor has spent the last three years treating Brielle like a breeding mare for the next generation of executives. If Brielle finds out my mother hid quadruplets from me just to force this marriage, she will realize Eleanor was planning to cast the Cartwrights aside the moment the ink dried on the merger."
Grant pulled out his phone and dialed Brielle’s private number.
It rang three times before she answered. Her voice was ice-cold. "You have exactly thirty seconds to explain why I shouldn't have my father destroy your company's stock tomorrow morning, Grant."
"Brielle, listen to me very carefully," Grant said. "I didn't cancel the wedding because I wanted to hurt you. I canceled it because five minutes before the announcement, I found out my mother has been hiding my four sons from me for six years."
Silence stretched over the line. Then, a sharp intake of breath. "What did you just say?"
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"I’m sitting in a diner on 4th Street with quadruplets who have my face," Grant said. "My mother is trying to hunt them down right now to steal custody and force me back to the altar. If you want revenge on the woman who manipulated both of our families, I need you to meet me at the Federal Reserve vault at 6:00 AM. And bring your father’s legal team."
Brielle was silent for what felt like an eternity. When she spoke again, the anger was gone, replaced by a calculating, fierce resolve. "6:00 AM. Don't be late, Grant. Because if you're lying to me, I’ll help your mother bury you."
