Chapter 5 - Desperate Measures
By the middle of the following week, Cole was losing his mind.
He sat in the dimly lit corner booth of an upscale downtown bar, his eyes wild, his tie loosened, downing his third tumbler of bourbon. Sitting across from him was Sierra Vaughn, looking visibly uncomfortable in a sleek white trench coat, her phone constantly buzzing on the table between them.
“You have to talk to your father, Sierra!” Cole snapped, his voice carrying a dangerous edge that caused the bartender to glance over. “His venture firm can issue a short-term bridge loan! Just ten million! It’s enough to cover the trust clawback and clear the equipment leases!”
Sierra sighed heavily, sliding her phone into her purse. She looked at Cole not with the playful flirtation she had offered him at corporate galas, but with cold, calculated detachment.
“Cole, be realistic,” Sierra said, her tone dripping with disdain. “My father’s firm invests in thriving logistics operations led by stable executives. You are currently facing an emergency custody battle, your wife’s family trust is suing you for corporate fraud, and your own board of directors locked you out of your office building three hours ago.”
Cole slammed his glass down onto the table. “I made you! I gave you access to my high-net-worth clients! I bought you that damn Tiffany necklace on Christmas Eve!”
“And you were stupid enough to text a picture of us in bed to your own wife,” Sierra spat back, leaning in close, her eyes narrowing. “My husband’s attorneys served me with divorce papers yesterday morning because of your ridiculous mistake, Cole. You are radioactive. Nobody in this city is going to give you a single dollar.”
She stood up, pulling her leather gloves on.
“Don’t walk away from me!” Cole hissed, reaching out to grab her arm.
Sierra instantly stepped back, pulling a small silver canister of pepper spray from her pocket and pointing it directly at his face. “Touch me, Cole, and I’ll have the bouncers throw you into the street. We’re done. Don’t call me again.”
She turned on her high heels and walked out of the bar, leaving Cole sitting alone in the shadow of his collapsing life.
Rage—pure, unadulterated, toxic rage—flooded Cole’s veins. He didn't blame himself for sending the text. He didn't blame himself for cheating, for lying, or for abusing his wife. In his twisted, narcissistic mind, everything was Lauren’s fault.
Lauren had ruined his deal. Lauren had embarrassed him. Lauren had stolen his children and destroyed his business reputation.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened a hidden messaging app. He dialed a contact listed simply as R3.
“Yeah?” a rough, raspy voice answered on the second ring.
“I need to find someone,” Cole rasped, his knuckles white against the phone. “A woman and two infants. She’s using private security and high-level legal shields.”
“Finding people costs money, friend,” the voice replied.
“I have fifty thousand in cash in my home safe,” Cole lied desperately, knowing he could liquidate his luxury watch collection by morning. “Find out where Daniel Harris’s private transport took my wife. I don’t just want an address. I want a way inside.”
“Give me twelve hours,” the voice said before hanging up.
Cole stared at his reflection in the dark glass of the booth table. He smiled a twisted, dangerous smile.
May you like
He thought about Lauren sitting somewhere thinking she was safe. He thought about his twin babies—the children he viewed not as human beings, but as his property, his legacy, his ultimate bargaining chips to force Lauren back into submission.
“You think you won, Lauren?” Cole whispered into the dark room. “You haven't seen anything yet.”
