Chapter 6 - THE STOLEN BOYS
Three weeks after Sabrina’s confession to the federal prosecutors, the legal battle escalated into an all-out war.
Alistair had been officially indicted by a federal grand jury on twelve counts of wire fraud, tax evasion, and corporate embezzlement. He was released on a five-million-dollar bail, strictly confined to the Back Bay mansion under electronic monitoring.
With his corporate career in tatters and his assets frozen, Alistair became increasingly unstable. Driven by Eleanor’s maniacal obsession with maintaining the family honor, they made a desperate move.
It was a crisp Thursday afternoon when my phone buzzed with an frantic call from Sarah Sterling, my family lawyer.
"Gen! Where are you?!" Sarah’s voice was urgent.
"I'm at home with Kora," I replied, rising from my desk. "What happened?"
"Eleanor just filed an emergency petition in Probate Court requesting immediate legal guardianship over Sterling, Brooks, and Pierce, claiming that both you and Sabrina are unfit!" Sarah shouted over the background noise of a busy hallway. "And that's not the worst part. Alistair just pulled all three boys out of their private school an hour ago!"
My heart plunged into my stomach. "What do you mean he pulled them out of school?!"
"He picked them up in a rental SUV!" Sarah explained. "He bypassed the school’s security protocol using his old parental authority status before the court order was officially updated in their system! They are missing, Gen!"
Panick surged through my veins like ice water. Despite everything that had happened—despite knowing that those three boys were biologically Sabrina’s—I had spent ten years loving them. I had wiped their tears, nursed their illnesses, and taught them how to read. To me, they weren't bargaining chips. They were innocent children caught in the crossfire of Alistair's madness.
"Where would he take them?" I shouted into the phone, grabbing my coat and car keys.
"We don't know!" Sarah said. "The police are issuing an Endangered Missing Child alert right now, but Alistair’s legal team is claiming he simply took his sons to a family property for 'a private vacation.'"
I stood in the middle of my living room, my mind spinning at lightspeed. Where would Alistair go when he was cornered?
Not his yacht in Nantucket—the Coast Guard had already impounded his vessel under the asset freeze.
Not his condo in Aspen—that was registered under Apex Holdings and monitored by federal marshals.
Then it hit me.
The Berkshire Estate.
It was a secluded, historic hunting lodge in the Berkshire Mountains that had belonged to Eleanor’s father. It wasn't registered under Alistair's name or Apex Holdings. It was held in an obscure family trust that Alistair had mentioned only once during our marriage when he complained about paying the local property taxes in cash.
I immediately called Marcus Vance. "Marcus! Get the State Police to dispatch units to the Berkshire estate in Lenox! That’s where he’s taking them!"
"Are you sure, Gen?" Marcus asked.
"I'm eighty percent sure!" I said, sprinting toward my garage. "I'm driving up there right now!"
"Genevieve, wait for the police!" Marcus warned. "Alistair is desperate! He has nothing left to lose!"
"I am not letting those boys spend another hour alone with him and Eleanor!" I yelled, slamming my car door shut and firing up the engine.
The two-hour drive up the Massachusetts Turnpike was a blur of torrential rain and blinding headlights. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my palms were numb.
As I crested the winding, ice-slicked mountain roads of Lenox, the dark silhouettes of towering pine trees closed in around my car. Up ahead, tucked deep behind a rusty iron gate that had been forced open, stood the dark, imposing stone structure of the Berkshire lodge.
Parked near the stone porch was a mud-spattered black rental SUV.
I pulled my car behind a cluster of pine trees, turned off the headlights, and reached into my glove compartment for my heavy metal flashlight.
As I approached the side porch of the lodge, I could hear shouting coming from behind the heavy velvet curtains of the living room window.
I crept up to the glass and peeked inside.
The sight inside made my blood run cold.
Alistair was standing near a roaring stone fireplace, holding a glass of scotch, shouting hysterically into his cell phone. Eleanor sat in a wingback chair, frantically packing silver photo frames and wads of cash into a leather duffel bag.
And in the corner of the room, huddling together on a leather sofa, were Sterling, Brooks, and Pierce.
Ten-year-old Sterling was wrapping his arms protectively around eight-year-old Brooks and six-year-old Pierce. All three boys were weeping, terrified, looking at their father as if he were a complete stranger.
"We leave for the private airfield in Vermont in twenty minutes!" Eleanor yelled at Alistair, her voice shrill and crazy. "The plane is booked under the Sterling Trust! Once we cross into Montreal, their courts won't enforce the American freezing order!"
"They're going to kidnap the boys out of the country," I whispered to myself, horror gripping my chest.
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I couldn't wait for the State Police. They were still twenty miles away on the mountain highway.
I picked up a heavy wooden log from the woodpile beside the porch, walked straight up to the side entrance door, and kicked it open with all the strength left in my body.
