Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT EMMA DISAPPEARED
We returned to the mansion just before midnight.
Every light was on.
Two guards stood at the entrance, and Marcus was already shouting into his phone when we stepped inside.
I knew something was wrong before anyone spoke.
"Where is Emma?"
Mrs. Alvarez appeared at the top of the stairs, pale and trembling.
"Claire, I'm so sorry."
My heart stopped.
"Where is my daughter?"
"She was asleep. I checked on her twenty minutes ago, and she was fine. Then the lights went out for less than a minute."
I ran upstairs.
Emma's bedroom window was closed. Her blankets lay neatly across the bed. Her stuffed rabbit rested beside the pillow.
But Emma was gone.
I screamed her name until my throat hurt.
Vincent reached the doorway seconds later. One look at my face told him everything.
He didn't ask questions.
He ordered every exit sealed, dispatched teams to the surrounding streets, and demanded that the security recordings be pulled immediately.
I sank to the floor beside Emma's bed.
Her tiny shoes stood near the closet.
She hadn't put them on.
Whoever had taken her had carried her away while she slept.
Vincent knelt beside me.
"Claire, look at me."
I couldn't.
"I promised her I would keep her safe."
"You didn't do this."
"She's four years old!"
My voice broke.
"She trusts everyone. She thinks people are good. She doesn't know what kind of world she's been dragged into."
Vincent's expression crumpled.
"Neither did Elena."
The words escaped him before he could stop them.
I looked up.
"What does that mean?"
He stared at the empty bed.
"Elena discovered someone inside my organization was selling information about our family. She wanted to expose them. I told her to wait until I could handle it."
He swallowed.
"She went ahead without me."
"Was that why she was killed?"
"I don't know."
For eighteen months, he'd blamed himself for failing to protect his wife. Now he feared that the same failure had followed him into a child's bedroom.
A guard rushed in with a tablet.
"We found the vehicle."
The footage showed a black SUV leaving through the north gate during the power interruption. The driver wore a security uniform.
Vincent recognized him.
"Peter. He's been with us for six years."
"He's not answering his phone," Marcus reported.
Vincent took the tablet and studied the footage.
"Stop it."
The screen froze.
Something was visible in the rear window: a small hand pressed against the glass.
Emma's hand.
I covered my mouth.
Then Vincent noticed something else.
The SUV's license plate belonged to a vehicle registered to one of his mother's companies.
He turned to Marcus.
"Find Margaret."
She wasn't at her townhouse.
She wasn't at her office.
Her private driver claimed she had left the city hours earlier.
But when Marcus checked the security system at the family mausoleum, he found a door that had been opened recently.
Vincent stared at the location on the map.
"Anthony's grave."
We arrived twenty minutes later.
The mausoleum stood on a wooded hill, its stone walls shining beneath the rain. Vincent entered first, his hand resting near the weapon beneath his coat.
Behind a marble column, I found a child's pink hair ribbon.
Emma's ribbon.
I clutched it to my chest.
"She's been here."
Vincent examined the floor. Fresh tire marks crossed the wet gravel outside, leading toward an old service road.
A faint sound interrupted us.
Three knocks.
They came from behind the wall containing Anthony's memorial plaque.
Vincent pressed his palm against the stone.
A concealed panel shifted open.
Behind it was a narrow passage leading underground.
We descended into a small chamber lit by a single bulb.
Emma sat on a chair, unharmed but frightened, her cheeks wet with tears.
"Mommy!"
I ran to her and wrapped her in my arms.
She clung to me so tightly that I could barely breathe.
"It's okay, baby. I'm here."
A woman stood near the opposite wall.
She wore a dark coat and leaned on a cane. Her face was thinner than in the photographs, her hair streaked with gray.
But Vincent knew her immediately.
"Elena?"
The woman lifted her eyes.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then she whispered, "Vincent, I'm sorry."
He took one step toward her.
She raised her hand.
"Don't come closer."
His face crumpled.
"You're alive."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you come home?"
Elena looked at Emma, then at me.
"Because your mother told me that if I returned, she'd have the child killed."
Vincent went completely still.
May you like
Elena's voice trembled.
"And she was the one who ordered the shooting that night."
