THE $14 MILLION REVENGE OF THE DISCARDED WIFE

Marcus stepped into the hospital room, his hand resting on the holster at his waist.

"Preston wants the boy brought to the airstrip immediately," Marcus said coldly. "You're coming with us, Rebecca. Quietly."

Leo clutched his blanket, his small eyes wide with fear. "Where's my dad?"

"Your dad is waiting for us, kid," Marcus grunted.

I looked at Marcus, then at the IV line in Leo's arm. The boy was sick. He needed specialized care, not a midnight flight to an extradition-free country with a fugitive.

"He can't leave this bed, Marcus," I said, stepping between the massive security guard and the child. "He needs his medication."

"Preston has a private doctor waiting on the plane. Move."

My mind raced. Marcus was loyal to the money, not the man.

"How much is Preston paying you to smuggle a sick child out of the country?" I asked softly.

Marcus scoffed. "Enough to retire."

"Fifty thousand? A hundred?" I held up the blue ticket stub Leo had given me. "Because whatever he's paying you, it's nothing compared to what's inside this storage unit. My mother owned sixty percent of Caldwell Development. I control the accounts now. Preston is broke. The only liquid assets he has left are in this unit."

Marcus's eyes narrowed. He looked at the blue ticket stub, a flicker of doubt crossing his rugged face.

"Preston told me the money from the loan was on the plane," Marcus said slowly.

"He lied to you," I replied. "Just like he lied to his investors. Just like he lied to Vanessa. If you take this boy to the plane, you become an accessory to international kidnapping for a man whose accounts are completely frozen. You'll go to federal prison for free."

Marcus stared at me for a long moment. He slowly removed his hand from his holster.

"I'll drive you to the storage unit," Marcus said. "If the money is there, I take my cut, and I walk away. You keep the kid. If you're lying, I'm putting both of you on that plane."

An hour later, the three of us stood in the freezing rain outside Unit 404 at a desolate storage facility near Midway Airport. Leo was bundled in my heavy wool coat, shivering against my leg.

Marcus used a pair of bolt cutters to snap the padlock. He rolled up the heavy metal door.

I clicked on my flashlight, illuminating the dusty interior.

There were no duffel bags full of cash. There were no gold bars or offshore bearer bonds.

The unit was filled to the ceiling with framed oil paintings, antique furniture, and heavy silver serving sets.

"What the hell is this?" Marcus growled, kicking a wooden crate. "This is just old junk!"

I felt the blood drain from my face as I walked among the items.

"It's not junk," I whispered, my voice trembling with rage. "This is the estate of Victoria Hayes's late husband. And the private art collection of the Chicago zoning commissioner."

Preston hadn't just forged my name. For years, he had been systematically looting the private estates of his investors and political allies, storing the stolen collateral here to quietly sell on the black market to fund his failing company.

Leo tugged at my sleeve. "I found something," he whispered.

He held up a broken gold pocket watch he had pulled from a cardboard box.

I took the watch. It had my father's initials engraved on the back. Preston had told me it was lost in a burglary fifteen years ago.