Chapter 7 - Three Days to Save Her
Vincent watched the message disappear.
Then he called Nora.
She didn't answer.
He called again.
Nothing.
Rebecca looked up from the computer.
“Vincent, we need to contact the police.”
“Do it.”
He turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To find Nora.”
Nora had moved into a small apartment in Cambridge.
She had left the Hale mansion with two suitcases, a broken heart, and enough unanswered questions to fill a lifetime.
For three days, she'd ignored Vincent's calls.
Not because she didn't love him.
Because she was afraid she did.
And loving a man whose empire had touched her brother's death felt like betraying Samuel.
That afternoon, she received a message from Dr. Porter.
I FOUND THE ORIGINAL RECORDS. COME ALONE.
The address belonged to an abandoned outpatient clinic outside Boston.
Nora stared at it.
Then she called Rebecca.
No answer.
She left a voicemail explaining where she was going.
It was the smartest decision she made that day.
The second smartest was taking a photograph of the message.
The worst was getting into her car.
At the clinic, the parking lot was empty.
Nora approached the entrance.
The door stood slightly open.
“Dr. Porter?”
No answer.
She stepped inside.
The hallway smelled of dust and disinfectant.
Old examination tables sat behind glass partitions.
A fluorescent light flickered overhead.
“Nora.”
She turned.
Dr. Porter stood near the nurses' station.
Her face was bruised.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
Nora stopped.
“What's happened?”
A man stepped from the shadows.
Then another.
Nora backed away.
Dr. Porter began crying.
“They have my daughter.”
One of the men grabbed Nora's arm.
She fought.
Kicked.
Screamed.
But a cloth was forced over her mouth, and the world began to spin.
Her last thought was of Samuel.
I should have listened.
Vincent arrived at the clinic forty minutes later.
He was accompanied by Rebecca, two licensed security professionals, and police officers responding to the reported threat.
Nora's car sat outside.
The driver's door was open.
Vincent felt his stomach drop.
“She's here.”
An officer raised a hand.
“Stay behind us.”
Vincent ignored the instinct to charge forward.
For once, he understood that courage and recklessness were not the same thing.
He waited.
Minutes passed.
Then an officer emerged carrying Nora's handbag.
Vincent recognized it immediately.
“Where is she?”
The officer's expression told him enough.
The building was empty.
Nora was gone.
At the police station, detectives examined the security footage and phone records.
Rebecca sat beside Vincent.
His hands were shaking.
He hated that.
He hated the helplessness.
The waiting.
The knowledge that money could not force the world to return someone safely.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A woman's voice spoke.
“Hello, Vincent.”
He froze.
“Eleanor.”
“It's been a long time.”
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“If you touch Nora—”
“Such a dramatic boy. Just like your father.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“What do you want?”
“Your signature.”
“On what?”
“A transfer of controlling interest in Hale Development and its associated trusts.”
Rebecca began writing.
Vincent kept his voice steady.
“And if I refuse?”
Eleanor laughed softly.
“Then you'll lose another person you love.”
His blood turned cold.
“Another?”
A pause.
“Oh, Vincent.”
Her voice became almost affectionate.
“Did you really think the shooting was meant to kill you?”
He stared at the wall.
“What are you talking about?”
“You were supposed to survive.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Why?”
“Because a dead man can't sign away an empire.”
Vincent gripped the phone.
“And my injury?”
“An unfortunate complication. But one that made you wonderfully dependent on Dominic.”
He couldn't breathe.
“You did this.”
“I arranged a lesson. Someone else made it permanent.”
“Where is Nora?”
“Tomorrow night. Nine o'clock. The old Ashcroft research facility.”
The line went dead.
Vincent sat motionless.
Rebecca touched his shoulder.
“We have enough to involve federal investigators.”
He looked at her.
“Then bring them.”
His voice broke.
“Bring everyone.”
That night, Vincent entered the rehabilitation room alone.
He positioned his wheelchair beside the standing frame.
For months, he had imagined that walking again would prove he was still powerful.
Now he understood something he'd resisted.
His worth had never depended on his legs.
He did not need to stand to save Nora.
He needed to think.
To trust the right people.
To let others help.
He turned away from the equipment and called Rebecca.
“I have a plan.”
Across the city, Nora woke in a locked room.
Her wrists were restrained.
Dr. Porter sat beside her, crying.
“I'm sorry.”
Nora struggled to sit upright.
“Where are we?”
“Ashcroft.”
“Why?”
Dr. Porter looked toward the door.
“Because Eleanor wants something Vincent has.”
Nora swallowed.
“What?”
Dr. Porter hesitated.
Then whispered, “Not his money.”
Footsteps approached.
The door opened.
Eleanor Hale entered.
She looked at Nora with cold amusement.
“Your brother was just as stubborn.”
Nora's eyes burned.
“What did you do to Samuel?”
Eleanor smiled.
“I didn't kill him, sweetheart.”
May you like
She leaned closer.
“I made sure he survived long enough to tell us where he'd hidden the evidence.”
