Chapter 4: Forty-Eight Hours
Ryan stared at the message on his phone as if the words might rearrange themselves.
They didn't.
*YOU HAVE 48 HOURS TO DELIVER MAYA BENNETT.*
I looked at him.
“Who sent it?””
“I don't know.””
“You expect me to believe that?””
“Yes.””
His voice sounded raw.
I took another step backward.
“You're telling me your father is threatening my company, millions of dollars just appeared in your account, and now someone wants you to deliver me?””
“I didn't ask for any of this.””
“Then give me your phone.””
He hesitated.
“Ryan.””
He handed it over.
I scrolled through the messages.
Most were from Charles.
Some were business instructions.
Some were personal.
Then I found a number without a name.
*Unknown: She knows too much.*
Another:
*Unknown: Don't let her reach Alexander.*
I stopped breathing.
Ryan noticed.
“What?””
I turned the screen toward him.
He read the message.
His face went white.
“Who's Alexander?””
“My father.””
“I know.””
“Then why would someone tell you not to let me reach him?””
Ryan shook his head.
“I don't know.””
I gave the phone back.
“Go.””
“Maya—”
“Go.””
“I can protect you.””
“You couldn't even protect me at Thanksgiving.””
He flinched.
I regretted the words immediately.
But I didn't take them back.
Ryan stood there for several seconds.
Then he said quietly, “You're right.””
He turned.
Before he reached the sidewalk, I called his name.
He stopped.
“If you ever loved me,” I said, “find out who sent those messages.””
He looked over his shoulder.
“I will.””
Then he walked away.
I waited until his car disappeared.
Only then did I lock my apartment door.
I checked every window.
Pulled the blinds.
Turned off the lights.
Then I called my father.
He answered on the first ring.
“Are you safe?””
“For now.””
“Tell me everything.””
I did.
When I finished, there was silence.
Then my father said, “Come to the house.””
“No.””
“Maya.””
“If someone knows I might contact you, I'm not leading them to your front door.””
“You're twenty-four years old and trying to outsmart people who've spent decades doing this.””
“I learned from you.””
“That isn't comforting.””
Despite everything, I smiled.
“I'm not staying here either.””
“Where will you go?””
“I don't know.””
My father exhaled.
“Then take the car.””
I frowned.
“What car?””
“The one Marcus brought you.””
“Dad, I don't need—”
“You do now.””
“I can drive my Honda.””
“No.””
His voice hardened.
“Your Honda is registered to your apartment. Your apartment is already being watched.””
My stomach tightened.
“How do you know?””
“Because I sent someone to check.””
I looked toward the window.
A black SUV sat across the street.
I hadn't noticed it before.
“Dad.””
“Get inside the Maybach.””
I grabbed my coat.
“Where?””
“Go to the old lake house.””
I stopped.
The lake house had belonged to my grandfather.
Nobody knew I still had access to it.
“Dad, that's four hours away.””
“Exactly.””
I left through the back exit.
Marcus was waiting in the alley.
His expression told me he already knew something was wrong.
“Ms. Bennett.””
“Drive.””
He opened the door.
I got inside.
The Maybach disappeared into the night.
For the first hour, neither of us spoke.
Then Marcus looked at me in the mirror.
“Your father told me to tell you something.””
“What?””
“He said you should trust your instincts.””
I looked out the window.
“My instincts brought me to Ryan.””
Marcus didn't answer.
I didn't blame him.
At midnight, my father's security chief called.
“Ms. Bennett, we've identified the SUV.””
“Who owns it?””
“Whitmore Industries.””
My fingers tightened around my phone.
“Are you sure?””
“Yes.””
I looked at Marcus.
“Keep driving.””
Then another call came in.
This time, it was Ryan.
I answered.
“What?””
His breathing was uneven.
“I found something.””
“What?””
“My father's account records.””
“Go on.””
“The money transferred into my account wasn't from Whitmore Industries.””
My heart skipped.
“Then where?””
“A shell company.””
“What company?””
“Briarstone Consulting.””
I frowned.
“I've never heard of it.””
“I hadn't either.””
“Who owns it?””
Ryan went silent.
“Ryan?””
He swallowed.
“The registered director is your father.””
I sat upright.
“What?””
“Alexander Bennett.””
The car suddenly felt too small.
“My father?””
“Yes.””
“No.””
“I thought the same thing.””
“You're lying.””
“I wish I were.””
I stared into the darkness beyond the window.
“Why would my father send money to you?””
“He didn't.””
“Then who did?””
“I don't know.””
Ryan's voice dropped.
“But I think someone is using your father's name.””
A second later, his call ended.
I called my father.
No answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
“Marcus.””
“Yes?””
“Call my father's security team.””
“I already tried.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
“They're not answering.””
The road stretched ahead.
Empty.
Dark.
And suddenly, the person I trusted most in the world had disappeared.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph appeared.
My father.
Standing beside Charles Whitmore.
Taken only hours earlier.
Underneath it was one sentence.
*ASK YOUR FATHER WHAT HAPPENED TO ELISE BENNETT.*
My mother's name.
I stared at the photograph.
Marcus glanced at me.
“Ms. Bennett?””
I couldn't answer.
Because my mother had died twelve years ago.
And nobody had spoken her name in that house for years.
Except my father.
And me.
I looked at the message again.
Then another photograph arrived.
This one showed my mother.
Alive.
Standing beside a younger Charles Whitmore.
May you like
And in her arms was a baby.
A baby I had never seen before.
