Chapter 4 - The Black SUV
The interior of the extended Black Cadillac Escalade was quiet, plush, and insulated from the noise of the thunderstorm raging outside.
The leather seats were warm, warmed by built-in climate control. Mia sat in the middle row beside Lily, her eyes wide as she looked at the small refrigerator built into the center console. Lily was already opening a box of organic apple juice, handing one to Mia without being asked.
“Here,” Lily said softly. “My dad keeps them cold.”
“Thanks,” Mia murmured, taking a sip before turning to me. “Mommy, are we going home now?”
“Soon, sweetie,” I said, sitting across from Damian in the rear facing seat.
Damian sat with his legs crossed, his dark suit jacket fitting his broad shoulders perfectly despite the absence of his outer coat. He picked up a secure satellite phone resting on the leather armrest, typed a brief text, and set it down.
The large man in the front passenger seat—the driver—turned slightly. “Boss. The vehicle on Clark Street has moved. They saw us pick up the lady.”
“Follow them?” the driver asked.
“No,” Damian replied smoothly. “Identify who authorized Julian to enter Lincoln Park. Have Marcus bring the file to the estate.”
“Understood.”
I leaned forward, my hands clenching in my lap. “Mr. Cross, what does any of this mean? Mark left the country? He abandoned us years ago. He hasn't paid child support in four months. Why would anyone think I have his money?”
Damian took a glass bottle of sparkling water from the console, poured a small amount into a crystal tumbler, and handed it to me.
“Desperate people do not logic, Nora,” Damian explained quietly. “When a man runs with twelve million dollars, the people he abandoned are the first ones squeezed. They assume he gave you a hidden offshore account or left physical bonds in a safety deposit box.”
“I don't have anything!” I said, my voice rising slightly before I remembered the girls sitting three feet away. I dropped my volume to a fierce whisper. “I work thirty-six hours a week at a pediatric clinic. I live in a two-bedroom apartment in Edgewater. I ride the CTA when my car’s alternator dies.”
“I know,” Damian said.
I blinked. “You know?”
“I have known where you live, where you work, and how you spend your days for three years,” Damian revealed without a trace of embarrassment or apology.
My blood ran cold. “You’ve been tracking me?”
“I have been protecting you,” Damian corrected calmly. “When a person saves my daughter’s life, they become part of my ledger. I do not allow people on my ledger to suffer harm from background noise. Two years ago, when your ex-husband tried to file false police reports during your custody battle, who do you think made those reports vanish from the precinct database?”
I stared at him, stunned into complete silence.
During the worst months of my divorce, Mark’s lawyer had threatened to use fabricated allegations of negligence to strip my custody. Then, overnight, the charges had mysteriously dropped, and Mark’s lead attorney had abruptly retired from practice.
“That was you?” I whispered.
“It was a minor administrative correction,” Damian said indifferently, taking a small sip of his water. “A small installment on an unpayable debt.”
The SUV pulled away from the park curb, smoothly merging into the heavy evening traffic along Lake Shore Drive. The wipers swept rhythmically across the windshield, wiping away the dark grey sheets of water.
May you like
“Where are you taking us?” I asked, looking out the tinted windows as the high-rise buildings of downtown Chicago blurred past.
“To my home in Gold Coast,” Damian said, meeting my gaze with unwavering intensity. “Julian Vance knows your apartment address. By tonight, his associates will be waiting on your street. Until I resolve Mark’s debt situation, you and Mia stay with me.”
