My grandma was critical after emergency surgery and my parents refused to come, but at her funeral, the pastor read her final note—and dad’s face changed when he heard his name...

"Liam!" I screamed at the phone screen.

Liam looked terrified, his hands tied behind his back and a bruise forming on his cheek.

"Hello again, Maya," my father smiled into the camera.

"Did you really think I wouldn't have a backup plan?"

Agent Miller slammed on the brakes, pulling the car into a secure bay.

He leaned over to look at the screen, his face hardening with professional fury.

"If you hurt him, I swear to God I will kill you myself," I sobbed.

"Such violent words for a grieving granddaughter," my father mocked.

"Here is the deal, Maya."

"You bring the ledger to the old shipping warehouse at the docks in one hour."

"You come alone, no cops, no feds, and no Mr. Vance."

"If I see a single flashing light, I will put a bullet in Liam's head and drop him in the river."

He ended the call before I could say another word.

The silence in the car was suffocating.

I looked at Agent Miller, tears streaming down my face.

"I have to go," I said, reaching for the door handle.

"Maya, you can't go alone, he will kill you both," Miller argued.

"If I don't go, Liam dies!" I yelled back, feeling completely hysterical.

Mr. Vance placed a calming hand on my shoulder.

"Agent Miller, we can wire her," the lawyer suggested quietly.

"If she can get John to confess to the forgery, the laundering, and the kidnapping on tape, you have him dead to rights."

Miller looked torn, knowing the immense danger of sending a civilian into a hostage situation.

"I can put a tracking beacon in the spine of the ledger," Miller finally agreed.

"We will be a perimeter away, ready to breach the second things go wrong."

Ten minutes later, I was fitted with a hidden microphone under my blouse.

I stepped out of the federal building and called a taxi to the docks.

The rain had stopped, but a thick, eerie fog had rolled in off the water.

I walked toward the abandoned warehouse, clutching the ledger to my chest.

“Which daughter is yours?” should have been a harmless question

The first wineglass shattered at 8:07 p.m

The moment the mafia boss’s wife called me “an illiterate servant,”

The massive metal doors were cracked open, revealing a pitch-black interior.

I took a deep breath, stepped inside, and heard the doors slam shut behind me.

Chapter 8 - The Hostage