Chapter 7 - The Hostage Video
I pulled the burner phone out. It was a single encrypted video file sent from an unknown number.
"Grant," I whispered, holding my breath as I tapped play.
The screen flickered to life. It wasn't Lorraine. It was Marcus Vance, sitting behind a polished mahogany desk in my own corporate office. But beside him, bound to a chair with industrial zip-ties, was my loyal longtime assistant, Sarah—the only person at Whitlock Resorts who knew the true combination to my private corporate vault.
"Good morning, Grant," Marcus said smoothly, his bruised jaw covered in thick makeup. "I trust you enjoyed your little midnight rally in the desert. Unfortunately, actions have consequences. Your board of directors has just voted unanimously to strip you of your CEO credentials due to 'sudden erratic behavior and corporate abandonment.' Furthermore, Miss Jenkins here was just about to help us transfer your personal asset portfolio over to the Lorraine Whitlock Foundation."
Sarah looked directly into the camera lens, her eyes wide with terror, before someone out of frame shoved a rag back into her mouth.
"You have until noon today to bring yourself and the woman and children to our downtown corporate headquarters," Marcus continued, leaning closer to the camera with a sickening grin. "Surrender yourselves quietly, sign over full guardianship of the boys to your mother, and Miss Jenkins walks away unharmed. If you don't... well, let's just say embezzlement charges are very easy to fabricate when you control the board."
The video ended.
I stared at the black screen, my hands clenching so tightly my knuckles turned bone white.
"Grant, we can't go back there," Tessa said, her eyes wide with panic as she read my expression. "It’s a trap. As soon as you walk through those doors, they'll lock you away and take the boys permanently."
"If we don't go, Sarah takes the fall for my multi-million-dollar asset portfolio, and Lorraine gets a legal execution order signed by a corrupt judge by sunset," I said, standing up and grabbing my jacket. "My mother thinks she owns the board. She thinks she owns my life. But she forgot one very important detail."
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"What's that?" Tessa asked.
"I built those boutique resorts from the ground up with my own sweat, long before my father ever handed me a trust fund," I said, my voice hardening into steel. "I didn't control my empire by playing by their rules. I controlled it by knowing every back door."
