Chapter 5 - The Trap in the Canyon
The first warning sign came on a freezing Tuesday morning in mid-January.
Vincent had left early for a meeting in Denver, accompanied by Marcus and his primary security detail. It was rare for him to leave the estate for more than a day, but a crisis on the northern freight lines demanded his personal attention.
I stayed behind at Raven's Ridge, managing the household, helping Noah with his math homework, and baking a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls with little Chloe. The snow outside was piled high against the windows, creating a cozy, insulated world inside the stone walls.
At two o'clock in the afternoon, the landline phone in the kitchen rang shrilly.
I picked it up, expecting Mrs. Gable from the village market confirms a grocery delivery.
"Mrs. Hale?" a distorted, harsh voice crackled through the receiver.
My grip on the phone tightened. "Who is this?"
"Listen very carefully," the voice hissed. "Your husband thinks he can lock himself away in his mountain fortress and cut off the Denver council. He's wrong. If you want to see Vincent alive again, you're going to walk out of the front gates alone at sunset, with the ledger from his private safe."
The blood drained entirely from my face. The room seemed to tilt on its axis.
"That's a lie," I choked out, my hands trembling violently. "Vincent is in Denver—"
"Vincent's convoy was intercepted in Eagle Canyon thirty minutes ago," the caller interrupted with a cruel laugh. "His men are pinned down, and he's trading his life for yours. Unless you bring that ledger to the old logging camp by dusk, the only thing coming back up this mountain will be his body in a pine box."
Access.
The dial tone hummed in my ear.
Panic crashed over me like a freezing wave. For a second, I stood paralyzed, the memory of my old, helpless self threatening to swallow me whole. Useless bride. Barren. Helpless.
Then, the memory of Vincent's fierce, unwavering gaze flashed in my mind. “You know what it means to struggle, to work with your hands, and to survive.”
I wasn't helpless anymore.
I slammed the phone down, turned around, and found nine-year-old Noah standing in the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide with absolute terror. He must have heard every word.
"Mom," Noah whispered, his voice cracking. "Is Dad... is Dad going to die?"
"No," I said fiercely, dropping to my knees and grabbing Noah by his shoulders, looking straight into his eyes. "Listen to me, Noah. Your father is the strongest man in this valley, but right now, he needs our help. I need you to lock every door in this house, stay with Mrs. Gable and the little ones, and do not open the door for anyone except Marcus."
"Where are you going?!" Noah cried, grabbing my coat sleeve.
"To save your father," I said firmly, kissing his forehead.
I sprinted up the stairs to Vincent's private study. I knew where he kept the wall safe—behind the heavy oil painting of the Colorado mountains. I spun the dial, punching in the combination he had casually mentioned one evening while working late.
May you like
The heavy steel door swung open. Inside sat stacks of cash, legal documents, and a thick leather-bound ledger stamped with the Denver syndicate's seal. I grabbed the ledger, shoved it deep inside my heavy wool coat, and pulled a heavy steel-barreled hunting rifle from the locked cabinet beside the desk—a weapon Vincent had taught me how to load just weeks before.
Ten minutes later, I climbed into Vincent's backup four-wheel-drive SUV parked in the garage, turned the ignition, and blasted down the snowy mountain road toward Eagle Canyon.
