Chapter 7 - The Clock Ticks North
"What do you mean she took him?!" Mark roared, lunging forward.
The two guards immediately moved to intercept him, their hands inside their jackets, but Arthur raised a single finger, halting them.
"Claire knew the game was up the moment you looked at that nanny cam," Arthur said, standing slowly. "She knew I would cut her off and you would put her in prison. The boy is her only leverage now. She traded her getaway car for an unmarked van and took him from the caretaker's facility in Albany."
Mark glared at his father with venomous disgust. "You treated human lives like chess pieces! My son! My daughter! My entire marriage was a lie engineered by you!"
"I protected the empire, Mark!" Arthur slammed his cane against the floor, his calm façade cracking. "Do you think you would be the CEO of our development branch if a scandal had broken out six years ago? You owe everything you have to my discretion!"
"I owe you nothing," Mark said, his voice icy. "Give me the address of the safe house. Give me the van's license plate."
Arthur stared at his son for a long, tense moment. He saw no fear in Mark’s eyes, only a lethal determination. The old man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a slip of folded paper.
"The caretaker managed to get the plate number before Claire knocked her unconscious. The van is a silver Ford Transit. She's heading toward the crossing at Derby Line."
Mark snatched the paper from his father's fingers. He turned to leave, but stopped at the doorway of the boathouse, looking back over his shoulder.
"When I get my son back, Dad, I'm calling the federal investigators. I have the ledger. I have the wire transfers. Your empire is going to burn."
Arthur didn't flinch, but his grip on the cane tightened until his knuckles were white. "You'll destroy your own inheritance, Mark."
"Keep the money," Mark spat. "I'm keeping my children."
He raced back into the storm, leaping into his truck. He plugged the destination into his GPS: four hours to the northern border through torrential rain. As the truck tore down the private driveway, Mark’s dashboard screen flashed with an incoming call from an unknown, untraceable number.
May you like
He tapped the screen. Claire’s frantic, panting voice filled the cabin.
"Mark! You have to help me! There's someone following us... they're trying to run us off the road!"
