Chapter 2 - Confessions in the White Room

The collective gasp from the board of directors sucked all the oxygen out of the room. The powerful executives stared at Richard in sheer horror.

"He's insane!" Richard screamed, pointing a bloody finger at Spencer. "He’s lost his mind! He's making up lies to push me out of the company!"

Spencer didn't flinch. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a remote control. He pressed a button, and the massive projector screen usually reserved for corporate presentations slowly rolled down from the ceiling behind the dining table.

"Let’s see if this is a lie," Spencer said softly.

The screen flickered to life. It played the high-definition, audio-enhanced security footage from the billiards room the night before. Richard’s voice echoed through the dining hall, loud and clear.

"The idiot is adopting them both. The plan failed. The baby survived. Go down to the hunting lodge... make sure the Cooper woman is still restrained. We have to finish this tonight."

The silence in the dining room was deafening. The board members began pushing their chairs back, desperate to distance themselves from Richard.

"You recorded me..." Richard whispered, his eyes wide with absolute madness. "You set me up."

"I survived you," Spencer corrected him.

Suddenly, the lights in the mansion flickered violently and died. The entire estate was plunged into pitch-black darkness.

Charlee screamed, grabbing Spencer’s arm.

"Vance!" Spencer shouted into the darkness.

"EMP, boss!" Vance’s voice barked from the doorway, illuminated only by the tactical flashlight mounted on his rifle. "They hit the main power grid. Richard’s private security detail is breaching the perimeter. They're heavily armed. It’s a coup."

Richard laughed in the dark—a hysterical, broken sound. "You thought you could outsmart me, little brother? I spent the last twenty-four hours paying off half your security staff. The board members aren't leaving this room. And neither are you."

Gunfire erupted in the grand foyer, the deafening cracks echoing through the marble halls.

Spencer didn't hesitate. He grabbed Charlee by the waist, scooping her up in one arm. "Vance, lock down the dining room! Keep the board safe! I'm getting to the nursery!"

Spencer sprinted through the darkened corridors of his own home, navigating by memory. The mansion had turned into a warzone. The flashes of muzzle fire strobed through the antique-filled hallways as Vance’s loyal men engaged Richard’s mercenaries.

Spencer kicked open the door to the hidden servant stairwell, taking the steps three at a time in the pitch black. His only thought was Dexter. He had to get to the baby.

He burst onto the second floor and sprinted toward the east wing. The heavy oak door of the nursery had been blown open.

"No..." Spencer breathed, his heart stopping.

He ran into the room. The crib was empty.

But a moment later, a small, trembling voice called out from inside the walk-in closet. "Mr. Spencer?"

Spencer rushed to the closet and threw open the door. Sitting on the floor, hidden behind a row of winter coats, was Mrs. Mabel. In her arms, tightly swaddled and fast asleep, was baby Dexter.

"They tried to take him, sir," Mrs. Mabel cried, clutching the baby. "But Charlee showed me this hiding spot yesterday. When the lights went out, I grabbed him."

Spencer let out a massive breath of relief, helping the older woman to her feet. He pulled Charlee close, kissing the top of her head. "You saved him again, sweetheart. You're a hero."

Suddenly, the heavy footsteps of combat boots echoed in the hallway outside the nursery.

"Check the rooms! Find the kids!" a gruff voice yelled.

Spencer shoved Mrs. Mabel and Charlee back into the closet. "Lock it from the inside. Do not make a sound until I come back."

He closed the closet door, turning back to the dark nursery. He had no gun. He had no tactical gear. But he was a father, and he was standing in the only path between the murderers and his children.

Spencer grabbed the heavy, solid-brass fireplace poker from the hearth. He stood behind the nursery door, his breathing slow and controlled. He was no longer the aloof billionaire in a bespoke suit. He was a cornered animal protecting his young.

A mercenary stepped into the nursery, his rifle raised, sweeping the beam of his flashlight across the empty crib.

Before the man could turn, Spencer swung the brass poker with every ounce of strength in his body. It connected with the side of the mercenary's tactical helmet with a sickening CRACK. The man crumpled to the floor, instantly unconscious.