Chapter 3 - Ghosts of the Past
The elevator chimes chimed in the far corridor, a clean, crystalline sound that felt like an executioner’s bell. Gabriel didn’t hesitate. Moving with predatory instinct, he stepped in front of Clara, shielding her with his body as he drew a compact pistol from the hidden holster beneath his tailored vest. The transformation from an exhausted, broken widower to a dangerous man of power happened in a fraction of a second.
""Stay behind me,"" Gabriel commanded in a low, dangerous growl.
Clara felt the heat radiating off him, the sheer physical presence that kept a cutthroat corporate empire under his absolute control. She did not cower; instead, her eyes darted to the heavy ornamental brass fire poker resting by the marble hearth. If violence was coming, she had no intention of being a bystander.
Julian raised his own weapon, stepping alongside Gabriel as the heavy elevator doors slid open with a soft mechanical hiss. The cabin was empty, except for a single wooden crate sitting dead center on the mirrored floor.
""Clear,"" Julian whispered, though neither man lowered their aim.
Gabriel stepped forward cautiously, his boots making no sound on the polished surface. The box was made of aged cedar, unvarnished, with a rusted iron latch holding it shut. On top of the lid lay a fresh, white camellia—the favorite flower of his deceased sister-in-law, Elena, who had perished alongside Victor on that rainy mountain road three years ago.
""Gabriel, don't touch it,"" Julian warned, raising a hand. ""It could be rigged.""
""Julian, shut up,"" Gabriel snapped, his voice trembling with an emotion Clara had never witnessed in him: raw, desperate hope laced with agony.
He reached down and lifted the camellia. Underneath it was an envelope addressed in unmistakable, looping cursive handwriting: To my dear brother Gabriel.
Clara stepped closer, unable to stop herself. ""Mr. Cardenas, let security inspect the box first.""
""I said stay back!"" he roared, whirling around with wild eyes. The grief inside him was a feral beast, tearing through his composure. Then, looking down at the delicate envelope, his breath hitched. He tore it open with trembling hands.
Inside was no letter of ransom. There were only two items: a silver locket shaped like a tear, and a small photograph taken within the last twenty-four hours.
Clara peeked past his shoulder and gasped. The photograph showed a little girl with curly brown hair, sitting on a playground bench, eating an ice cream cone. Beside her was a newspaper dated yesterday.
May you like
""Mia..."" Gabriel choked out, falling to his knees as the paper slipped from his grasp. ""My niece is alive.""
Before Julian or Clara could react, the penthouse lights abruptly plunged into total darkness, and the emergency lockdown sirens began to howl.
