Chapter 6 - THE ECHO OF A SHOT
The gunshot was deafening in the small dining room. But the bullet didn’t hit me. Derek had lunged across the table, knocking Marcus’s arm upward just as the gun went off. The bullet shattered the crystal chandelier above us, showering the room in glass. The older police officer tackled Marcus to the floor before he could recover, driving a knee into the lawyer's back and wrenching the gun from his hand. The younger officer quickly cuffed Marcus, hauling him up roughly. Derek lay on the floor, breathing heavily, bleeding from a shallow cut on his forehead where the glass had hit him. “Derek!” Kelsey screamed, dropping beside him. “I’m okay,” Derek gasped, sitting up and looking at me. “Mom, the lockdown. You locked the accounts. How are we going to pay the ransom for Leo?” Marcus spat blood onto the floor, laughing a cruel, jagged laugh. “You can’t,” Marcus sneered. “The men holding your son work for me. If they don’t get my call in exactly ten minutes, they put the boy on a cargo ship out of the city. You’ll never see him again.” “Where is he?” I demanded, walking right up to Marcus. “Go to hell, Eleanor,” Marcus smiled. I looked at the police officers. “Take his phone. Track the last calls.” “Ma’am, his phone is encrypted,” the officer said, holding up the device. “We’d need a warrant and cyber experts. It takes hours.” Ten minutes. We had ten minutes. I looked around the room. My eyes landed on the silver pocket watch Derek had thrown on the table. My father’s watch. I picked it up. “Derek,” I said, my mind racing. “You said you bought this at a pawn shop owned by one of Marcus’s shell companies?” “Yes,” Derek nodded, wincing as Kelsey wiped the blood from his head. “Marcus is meticulous,” I said, looking at the lawyer. “He doesn’t trust anyone. He wouldn't hire random thugs to hold a child. He’d use a property he controls.” I looked at David, the gallery owner, who was still sitting in shock. “David. You bought that emerald pendant at an estate auction. Did Marcus give you a receipt?” David nodded frantically. “Yes! It’s in my car!” “I don’t need the receipt,” I said. “I need the address of the holding company on the letterhead.” David thought for a second. “It wasn’t a corporate address. It was an old warehouse. Pier 42 on the docks.” Marcus’s smug expression instantly vanished. “Pier 42,” the older officer said into his radio. “We need units at Pier 42 immediately. Suspected kidnapping in progress.” “It’s too late,” Marcus snarled. “They’re heavily armed. Your cops will get the boy killed.” He was right. A SWAT raid would cause a bloodbath. I grabbed my purse. “Mom, where are you going?” Derek asked, standing up. “To get my grandson,” I said. “I’m coming with you,” Derek said, his voice firm. There was no trace of the spoiled, arrogant son from an hour ago. Just a terrified father. We rushed out of the restaurant, the police sirens beginning to wail in the distance. Derek drove his SUV like a madman, weaving through the city traffic toward the docks. The rain had started to fall, slicking the streets in a dark sheen. When we arrived at Pier 42, the police hadn't arrived yet. The warehouse was massive, rusted, and silent. A single black van was parked near the loading dock. Derek reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a heavy flashlight. “Stay behind me,” he whispered. We crept toward the side door. It was unlocked. Inside, the warehouse smelled of old fish and motor oil. In the center of the massive room, sitting on a wooden crate, was an eight-year-old boy holding a small, stuffed bear. Leo. Standing behind him was a massive man in a leather jacket, holding a rifle. Derek gripped the flashlight, ready to charge. But before he could move, a voice echoed from the rafters above us. “Drop the flashlight, Derek. Or I shoot the boy.” I looked up. Standing on the metal catwalk, holding a hunting rifle, was a man I hadn't seen in fifteen years. Arthur Evans. And he wasn’t a ghost.
