Chapter 7 - The Enemy Of My Enemy
Julian stared nervously at the thick manila folder, his arrogant smirk faltering for the first time.
Selina explained that she had hired a private investigator three weeks ago after discovering the hidden cameras in her home.
The investigator had uncovered the intricate, illegal money trail connecting Julian's embezzlement directly to his mother.
Eleanor had not merely been a passive bystander; she was actively laundering the stolen millions through her offshore charity foundations.
Selina coldly informed Julian that this folder contained irrefutable proof of his mother’s extensive financial crimes.
If Eleanor did not turn the cars around and bring my children back immediately, Selina would ensure the old woman died in a federal penitentiary.
Julian's face drained of color as he realized his ultimate safety net had just been completely destroyed.
He reluctantly gave Selina the encrypted phone number to contact his mother's private security team.
Selina dialed the number, put the phone on speaker, and calmly explained the severe blackmail terms to Eleanor.
The line was dead silent for a terrifying moment before Eleanor’s shaky, defeated voice finally answered.
The old woman furiously agreed to surrender the children, prioritizing her own freedom over her twisted sense of family loyalty.
She promised to have her private driver drop the children off at an abandoned warehouse district on the edge of town in exactly thirty minutes.
Selina and I sprinted out of the police precinct, leaving Julian screaming in helpless rage inside the interrogation room.
We drove aggressively through the dark, rain-slicked city streets, our hearts pounding with anxious anticipation.
We pulled into the desolate, poorly lit industrial park just as a sleek black limousine rolled to a stop under a flickering streetlamp.
I leaped out of my car before it even completely stopped moving, running desperately toward the luxury vehicle.
The heavy tinted window slowly rolled down, revealing Eleanor’s pale and genuinely terrified face.
She hastily opened the rear passenger door, and my three-year-old son immediately ran out into my waiting arms.
I hugged him fiercely, sobbing into his small shoulder, but my immense relief was instantly shattered.
I looked frantically into the spacious backseat of the limousine, searching for the familiar blue infant carrier.
The backseat was completely empty.
I screamed at Eleanor, demanding to know where she had hidden my newborn daughter.
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Eleanor began to violently tremble, tears of genuine panic streaming down her wrinkled face.
She swore to me that the baby had never even made it into her limousine.
