Chapter 11 - Emma Is Missing
Marcus called Claire six times.
No answer.
Then he called the Bellmere.
Claire had left forty minutes earlier to take Emma to a pediatric follow-up appointment.
The appointment office said they had never arrived.
Marcus felt panic tear through him.
Rachel grabbed his shoulders.
“Do not drive.”
“I’m going.”
“You’re in no condition.”
“My daughter is missing.”
“And crashing your car will not find her.”
Detective Ortiz was notified.
An AMBER Alert was not immediately issued because there was no confirmed abduction, but Chicago police began tracing Claire’s vehicle.
Marcus paced Rachel’s office like a caged animal.
He called Bianca.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“What?”
“Where is Emma?”
Silence.
Then Bianca said, “How would I know?”
“If you touch her—”
“Careful, Marcus.”
He stopped.
Her voice was calm.
“Every threat you make is being documented.”
“You think I care?”
“You will.”
“Where is my daughter?”
Bianca laughed once.
“I may hate you, but I’m not stupid enough to kidnap a child under active police investigation.”
“Simon?”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Bianca—”
The line died.
Rachel stared at him.
“That accomplished nothing.”
Marcus threw the phone onto the sofa.
Ten minutes later, Detective Ortiz called.
Claire’s car had been located in a parking garage near Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
Marcus almost stopped breathing.
“Was Emma inside?”
“No.”
“Claire?”
“No.”
“Blood?”
“None visible.”
Then another call arrived.
Unknown number.
Marcus answered.
Emma whispered, “Dad?”
His knees nearly gave out.
“Emma. Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Is Claire with you?”
“Yes.”
A muffled argument sounded.
Then Claire took the phone.
“Marcus, we’re safe.”
He exploded.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Richard’s church.”
Marcus froze.
“What?”
“St. Matthew’s. Basement archive.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody was following us.”
She explained quickly.
A black SUV had trailed them from Evelyn’s apartment.
Claire noticed it after the same vehicle made three turns.
She drove into the hospital garage, took Emma through a service exit, and called a taxi using a stranger’s phone.
“Why didn’t you call police?”
“My phone died.”
“Borrow one.”
“I did. I called Darius. He told me not to call you until we knew we hadn’t been followed.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
Darius’s instinct had been right.
“I’m coming.”
Police met him there.
Emma ran into his arms.
Marcus held her so tightly she complained.
“Dad, I can’t breathe.”
He loosened his grip.
“I’m sorry.”
Claire looked pale.
“I think the SUV belonged to Simon’s company fleet.”
Detective Ortiz took the information.
Emma tugged Marcus’s sleeve.
“Claire brought me here because Grandpa used to hide papers here.”
Marcus looked up.
Claire frowned.
“I didn’t know that.”
Emma pointed toward a wall of parish donor plaques.
“Grandpa did.”
“How?”
“He brought me here once.”
Marcus stared.
Richard had attended St. Matthew’s for thirty years.
His funeral had been held upstairs.
Emma walked toward a brass memorial plaque honoring the Hale family.
She pressed one corner.
Nothing happened.
She frowned.
“Grandpa had a screwdriver.”
A maintenance worker removed the plaque.
Behind it was a shallow recess.
Inside sat a waterproof envelope.
Claire whispered, “Richard, you paranoid old man.”
Marcus opened it under Detective Ortiz’s supervision.
There was no corporate evidence.
Only a letter addressed to Emma.
Marcus hesitated.
“It’s hers.”
Emma opened it.
She read silently at first.
Then her eyes filled.
“Can you read it to me?” Marcus asked.
Emma nodded.
“Dear Emma. If you are reading this, then grown-ups have made a mess of things.”
Despite everything, Claire laughed softly.
Emma continued.
“I gave you the gold key because you listen when people talk around you. Your father loves you more than anything, but sometimes he believes confident people instead of quiet facts.”
Marcus looked away.
Richard had still been teaching him from the grave.
Emma read:
“If Bianca ever frightens you because of the box, give the key to your father immediately. Do not argue. Do not try to be brave alone.”
Her voice shook.
Marcus swallowed.
“Keep going.”
“There is one person who knows where the final recording is. Her name is Mila Torres.”
Bianca’s assistant.
Emma finished the letter.
“Tell Mila this sentence: Richard remembered the blue umbrella. She will understand.”
Marcus looked at Claire.
“What blue umbrella?”
“I have no idea.”
Detective Ortiz already had Mila’s number.
She called.
No answer.
Marcus tried.
No answer.
Rachel searched public databases.
Mila’s apartment was in River North.
Police reached it within thirty minutes.
The door was unlocked.
Inside, lights were on.
A coffee mug was warm.
A suitcase lay open on the bed.
Mila was gone.
But taped to the bathroom mirror was a note.
Four words.
I CAN’T DO THIS.
Marcus stared at the photograph Detective Ortiz sent him.
Then Emma said quietly, “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“What if she didn’t leave because she wanted to?”
Marcus looked at his daughter.
He had spent days underestimating how much she noticed.
He would not do it again.
And then Detective Ortiz’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her face changed.
“We found Mila.”
Marcus stood.
“Where?”
Ortiz looked directly at him.
“At O’Hare.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s alive.”
“Then what?”
“She was trying to board a flight to Lisbon.”
Marcus frowned.
May you like
Ortiz continued.
“She had two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash in her luggage.”
