Chapter 6 - The Uninvited GuestThe digital clock on the desk clicked to 6:15 AM.
On the lobby security monitor, Cynthia Vance looked entirely unhinged. Gone was the polished, pristine suburban hostess of the previous evening. Her red velvet dress was partially covered by a puffy winter jacket thrown on over her nightgown, her hair was wild, and her face was twisted in a mask of furious panic. She was screaming at the night security guard, waving her smartphone in the air.
“She traced her phone,” Hannah muttered, staring at the monitor. “Or she realized the home security cloud logs were accessed from this IP address. She knows where the girl is.”
David stared at the screen, his face hardening from shock into something cold, dark, and terrifying. The tears had stopped, replaced by the deadly calm of a cornered animal realizing who the real predator had been all along.
“She has no right,” David whispered, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. “She has no right to step foot near my daughter ever again.”
“She doesn't,” Julian said calmly, walking over to his desk and picking up the house intercom phone. He pressed a button connecting directly to the ground floor lobby. “Mendoza. This is Mercer. Do not let that woman past the security gates. Call the local precinct and have them dispatch officers to escort her off the property for trespassing and child endangerment.”
“Mr. Mercer,” the head of security replied through the speaker, “she’s claiming she’s the child’s legal guardian and that Mr. Vance’s daughter was ‘abducted’ from her home.”
David stepped forward, grabbing the intercom mic from Julian’s hand.
“Mendoza,” David growled, his voice echoing through the lobby speakers so loudly that Cynthia on the monitor flinched and looked up at the ceiling camera. “This is David Vance. That woman is my wife—not for much longer. If she tries to step one foot into this building, tell her I am waiting upstairs with a stack of bank statements, police reports, and the security footage of her locking an eight-year-old child in the snow. Let her try to call the police. They’re already looking for her.”
On the screen, Cynthia froze. She dropped her hand from the glass, her mouth opening in shock as she realized the game was entirely, irrevocably up. She turned on her heel, bolted back out the glass doors, and scrambled into the waiting taxi, which sped away into the snowy Columbus morning.
David slowly lowered the microphone. He stood in silence for a long moment, staring at the blank screen before turning to look at Julian.
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“Mr. Mercer,” David said, his voice steady now, carrying an absolute, unbreakable resolve. “What do I do next?”
“First,” Julian said, walking toward the guest room door, “you go in and wake your daughter up. Tell her she’s never going back to that house.”
