Chapter 3 - The Ghost of a Mother
The next morning, the storm had broken, leaving the Crawford estate bathed in pale, golden sunlight. Benjamin woke up on the kitchen island stool, his neck stiff, having refused to leave the room while Chloe slept in the pantry.
He had tried to coax her into one of the ten luxurious guest bedrooms the night before, but she had adamantly refused. “Cardboard is what I know,” she had whispered. “Soft beds make you forget you have to leave.”
When Benjamin finally convinced her to come out for breakfast, she sat at the massive marble dining table looking incredibly small. Benjamin had cooked himself for the first time in years—pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon.
Chloe stared at the plate, her eyes wide. She took a small bite of a pancake, chewed slowly, and then pushed the plate away.
“Is it no good?” Benjamin asked, feeling a strange pang of disappointment.
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Chloe said truthfully. “But if I eat it all now, my stomach will hurt because it’s not used to being full. And… I need to save some for tomorrow.”
Benjamin’s heart broke all over again. He reached out and gently pushed the plate back toward her. “Chloe, as long as you are in this house, there will always be food tomorrow. I promise you.”
She looked at him skeptically but took another small bite. As she chewed, her eyes wandered to the massive portrait hanging above the living room fireplace. It was a painting of Sarah, smiling brightly, wearing her favorite yellow sundress.
“Is that your Mama?” Chloe asked.
“No,” Benjamin smiled sadly. “That was my wife, Sarah. She went to heaven three years ago.”
Chloe’s expression softened into one of profound, ancient understanding. She slid off her chair, walked over to Benjamin, and patted his arm with her small, sticky hand. “I’m sorry. Heaven takes the best ones first because they finish their tests early. That’s what Mama told me.”
Tears pricked the back of Benjamin’s eyes. He hadn’t cried since Sarah’s funeral, but this dirty, broken little girl was dismantling his walls piece by piece.
Before he could answer, his cell phone buzzed on the table. It was Marcus.
Benjamin walked into the hallway to answer. “Tell me you have something.”
“I have a nightmare, Ben,” Marcus said, his voice unusually tense. “Rebecca Patterson, the aunt. She didn’t call CPS out of the goodness of her heart. Her boyfriend, a small-time grifter named Carl, saw you pick up Chloe on one of your estate’s exterior security cameras when she slipped through the gate. He knows exactly who you are.”
“What do they want?” Benjamin growled.
“Money. Carl just contacted my office. He’s threatening to go to the press and tell the world that the tech genius Benjamin Crawford lured a homeless child into his mansion. He wants ten million dollars transferred to an offshore account by midnight, or he ruins your reputation, sinks your billion-dollar merger, and forces CPS to drag the girl back to them.”
Benjamin looked through the doorway at Chloe, who was carefully wrapping a piece of bacon in a napkin to save for later.
“Ben?” Marcus asked through the phone. “We should pay him. Ten million is a drop in the bucket for you, and it makes this go away.”
“No,” Benjamin said, his eyes darkening with a terrifying rage. “I don’t pay extortionists. And I don’t give children back to monsters.”
“Ben, if this leaks, your company’s stock will tank. You’ll lose everything you’ve built.”
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“Let it burn,” Benjamin whispered. “Get the jet ready, Marcus. We’re going hunting.”
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