Chapter 4 - The MisunderstandingWyatt scrambled off the bench, running straight into his father’s arms. “Daddy! You came back!”
Spencer swept his son up, burying his face in Wyatt’s neck, squeezing him so hard the boy let out a small giggle. For thirty seconds, the entire room vanished for the billionaire—there was only the beating heart of his son.
Then, Spencer set Wyatt down, keeping one hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder, and stood up to face the room.
His gaze snapped instantly toward nine-year-old Ellie, who sat huddled beneath her wool quilt, looking up at him with wide, terrified eyes.
“You,” Spencer said, his voice dropping into a cold, dangerous register that made the police officers instinctively step back. “You took my son.”
Ellie’s breath hitched. “I... I didn't take him! He was cold at the bus stop! I just brought him here where it’s warm!”
“Sir, we have witnesses and a viral video showing her leading him away from public view,” one of the police officers stated, stepping toward Ellie and reaching for the cuffs on his belt. “We’re taking her into custody for questioning and child abduction.”
“Wait!” Wyatt yelled, stepping directly between the officer and Ellie. He pushed against the cop’s knee with his tiny hands. “No! She’s not bad! She gave me her coat because my fingers hurt! Don't you touch her!”
Spencer froze. He looked down at his son, then at the oversized gray hoodie swallowing Wyatt’s small frame, and finally back at Ellie—shivering under a blanket, with chapped lips and tear-filled eyes.
The fierce, blinding rage that had fueled Spencer down the stairs evaporated instantly, replaced by a sudden, heavy wave of shame.
“Hold on, Officer,” Spencer commanded, stepping between the police and the girl. He knelt down slowly on the dusty concrete floor, coming eye-level with Ellie.
“Did you give him your hoodie?” Spencer asked, his voice softening, stripped of all its corporate ice.
Ellie sniffled, pulling the quilt tighter around her shoulders. “He didn't have a coat. And nobody was helping him. My mom always says when someone’s cold, you don't ask if they earned it. You just help.”
Spencer’s chest tightened as if struck by a physical blow. He reached out gently, his large, warm hand resting on the edge of the quilt.
“What is your name?”
“Ellie,” she whispered. “Ellie Jensen.”
Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. Jensen. The name echoed in his mind, tied to a stack of urgent corporate files sitting on his desk back at the tower—files regarding a mass eviction notice for a low-income housing complex on the east side.
Before Spencer could speak, Ellie’s eyes rolled back slightly, her head drooping as exhaustion and hypothermia finally claimed her small body.
“Ellie!” Pastor Ruth gasped, rushing forward.
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Spencer didn't hesitate. He swept Ellie up into his arms, ignoring the expensive fabric of his coat as he cradled her against his chest.
“Clear a path!” Spencer ordered the officers, his voice ringing with absolute authority. “My car is outside. We are going to the hospital right now.”
