Chapter 7 - The Ransom Demand
The silence in Sabrina's destroyed nursery felt absolutely suffocating.
Dr. Thorne’s chilling ultimatum echoed in my mind as Jacqueline furiously began tracing the phone call on her tablet.
"You kidnapped the children of a missing mother in Ohio, Elias," I stated, keeping my voice remarkably steady.
"The FBI is already matching the DNA from the champagne glass Christopher left at my house."
A dark, condescending laugh rumbled through the phone speaker.
"You are a smart woman, Stephanie, but your husband is a complete fool," Dr. Thorne replied.
"Christopher thought he was buying untraceable orphans from an overseas agency to secure his inheritance."
"He had no idea I simply snatched them from a local border town hospital to save on international shipping costs."
Bile rose in my throat at the casual cruelty of his words.
"Where is my sister?" I demanded, gripping the edge of the crib to steady myself.
"Sabrina is currently tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse, crying about how unfair her life is," Thorne mocked.
"You have exactly two hours to transfer the funds, or I will leave them all in the river."
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Jacqueline looked up from her tablet, shaking her head in frustration.
"He used a burner phone routed through three different encrypted servers," she sighed.
"We cannot track his exact location, but the signal bounced off a cell tower near the old industrial shipyards."
I turned on my heel and marched out of the shattered apartment without a second thought.
"Call the police and the FBI immediately," I ordered Jacqueline as we rode the elevator down.
"Tell them everything about the wire transfers, the fake pregnancy, and the kidnapped twins from Ohio."
"What are you going to do?" Jacqueline asked, her eyes wide with worry.
"I am going to the shipyards to buy those babies enough time for the federal agents to arrive," I declared.
I drove my own car toward the desolate industrial district, the dark storm clouds matching my fierce determination.
I pulled up to a massive, rusting warehouse with broken windows and a chained gate.
I used a heavy tire iron from my trunk to smash the padlock and slipped inside the gloomy building.
The smell of motor oil and damp concrete filled my lungs as I navigated through the labyrinth of shipping containers.
In the center of the warehouse, illuminated by a single glaring spotlight, was Sabrina.
She was bound tightly to a wooden chair, her mascara running down her tear-stained face.
The two babies were sleeping soundly in a plastic crate next to her feet.
I stepped into the light, raising my hands to show I was unarmed.
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But the person standing behind Sabrina, holding a loaded gun to her head, was not Dr. Thorne.
It was my mother.
