Chapter 7 - The Hostage Protocol
The air in the basement suddenly felt incredibly thin.
My son was sitting on top of a bomb, and these monsters were completely willing to pull the trigger.
I immediately dialed Carter on his encrypted satellite line.
“Carter, sweep the perimeter of Ethan’s safehouse right now, they planted an explosive device,” I ordered, my voice trembling for the first time all day.
“Madison, I am looking at the bomb right now, it is wired directly into the main gas line of the house,” Carter replied grimly.
He explained that moving Ethan or trying to defuse it without the proper codes would trigger an immediate detonation.
“I am going to the gala to give them the keys,” I said, making the only choice a mother could make.
“You walk in there alone, they will kill you the second the transfer completes,” Carter warned.
“I know,” I replied softly, ending the call.
I walked up to my master bedroom and opened my hidden floor safe.
I bypassed the cash and jewelry, reaching into the very back to retrieve a heavy, velvet-lined box.
Inside rested a customized, fully loaded tactical sidearm my father had forced me to learn how to use.
I slipped the cold metal into a thigh holster and put on a stunning, floor-length crimson evening gown to conceal it.
If Marcus wanted a corporate war at a black-tie event, I was going to give him one.
I drove myself to the grand ballroom in the center of the city, arriving exactly as the gala began.
Hundreds of my employees, board members, and elite investors were drinking champagne, completely unaware of the hostile takeover.
I spotted Brandon immediately, wearing a tailored tuxedo and holding a glass of expensive scotch.
He looked incredibly nervous, his eyes darting around the room looking for Nicole.
He spotted me, and his face turned the color of ash.
He assumed I was either dead or drooling in a hospital bed.
I smiled flawlessly, walking directly toward him through the crowd of photographers.
“Hello, darling, did the LLC paperwork go smoothly?” I asked loudly enough for the investors to hear.
Before Brandon could stammer out a lie, Marcus stepped out from behind an ice sculpture.
Marcus smiled, but his eyes were completely dead.
“Madison, how wonderful of you to join us,” Marcus said smoothly, taking my arm in a vice-like grip.
“Let’s go to the private VIP lounge upstairs to discuss the future of your company,” he whispered maliciously.
I let him guide me up the spiral staircase, knowing I was walking directly into the lion's den.
As Marcus locked the heavy velvet doors of the VIP room behind us, he turned to me with a triumphant sneer.
“Hand over the master keys, Madison, or your son burns,” Marcus demanded.
May you like
I reached into my clutch, but instead of the flash drive, I pulled out my phone and showed him a live video feed.
The screen displayed Nicole, tied to a chair in Carter’s warehouse, completely drenched in gasoline.
