Chapter 4 - The Ransom Note
I rushed forward, holstering my sidearm, and dropped to my knees beside her.
“Diana,” I murmured, quickly tearing the duct tape away from her mouth. She gasped, sucking in a ragged breath of air as her head slumped against my shoulder.
“They... they took him,” she choked out, tears finally spilling over her lashes.
I pulled a tactical pocketknife from my belt and sliced through the heavy zip-ties biting into her wrists. “Who took who, Diana? Talk to me. Who was in the van?”
She rubbed her raw, red wrists, shaking violently as she buried her face in her hands. “I don't know his name! He... he was wearing a courier uniform. He cornered me in the hallway when the lights went out. He said if I didn't hand over the keys to the master safe, they would hurt... they would hurt my brother.”
I froze.
“Your brother?” I asked, my voice tightening. “Evan is away at boarding school in Switzerland. What does he have to do with this?”
Diana shook her head frantically, sobbing harder now. “No... he was pulled out a month ago. They’ve been holding him, Marcus! They’ve had him for weeks! Every time I tried to tell you, every time I tried to walk away, they sent me pictures of him bound and gagged. That’s why I had to leak the acquisition data... that’s why I had to let them place the recorder under your table! They forced me to do it!”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
All the cold suspicion, the anger, the betrayal I had felt moments ago shifted into a sickening, complicated knot of dread. I looked down at her face—not the face of a calculated corporate spy, but of a desperate sister trapped in a predator’s jaws.
“Why didn't you come to me?” I demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her to look at me. “You think I couldn't protect your family? You think I wouldn't have torn half of Europe apart to get Evan back?”
“You don't understand who you're fighting, Marcus!” she cried, clutching my lapels with desperate force. “It’s not just a corporate rival. It’s Richard Sterling. He’s working with the syndicate—the same people who destroyed your father’s shipping lines ten years ago. They don't just want your company, Marcus. They want you bankrupt, broken, and ruined!”
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed violently in my breast pocket.
I pulled it out. It was an incoming video call from an unknown, encrypted satellite relay.
I swiped and answered, holding the screen so both Diana and I could see.
The screen flickered, lighting up with the harsh, sterile interior of an abandoned warehouse. Tied to a metal chair in the center of the room was a teenage boy with dark hair matching Diana’s—Evan. Standing behind him, wearing a dark overcoat and holding a heavy tactical knife near the boy’s throat, was a man whose face was masked by a black balaclava.
Then the masked man leaned down toward the camera, his voice distorted by a digital modulator.
"Good evening, Mr. Vance," the synthesized voice hissed. "I trust you enjoyed the party. If you want the boy back alive—and if you want your precious corporate empire to survive tomorrow morning's market opening—you'll find a flash drive waiting inside your personal safe upstairs. Sign over the Vantage Logistics acquisition rights, transfer fifty million in bearer bonds to our offshore account, and meet me at Pier 42 by sunrise."
The masked man pressed the blade a fraction of an inch closer to Evan’s throat. The boy let out a muffled scream through his gag.
"Come alone, Marcus. If you bring the police, or your little security lieutenant, the boy comes home in a pine box. You have until dawn."
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Click.
The video feed went dead, leaving only our own reflections staring back at us from the dark phone screen.
