Chapter 8
The next six hours were the longest of my life.
We stayed in that conference room, the phone ringing every five minutes, every call bringing either nothing or a new dead end.
The police had put out an Amber Alert.
Clara’s face was on every billboard, every news channel, every social media feed in the country.
Nathaniel had offered a five-million-dollar reward for any information leading to her safe return.
Thousands of people were out searching for her—volunteers, police, National Guard, Nathaniel’s private security team.
But there was nothing.
No sign of Maggie.
No sign of Clara.
No sign of Jonathan.
I sat on the floor in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth, my arms wrapped around my empty chest, replaying every moment of the last week.
I should’ve known he’d do something like this.
I should’ve never let Clara out of my sight.
I should’ve been there.
It was all my fault.
Nathaniel sat beside me, holding me, his own face drawn and pale.
He didn’t sleep.
He didn’t eat.
He just made calls, yelled at people, demanded answers no one had.
At 9 p.m., his phone rang.
He answered it, putting it on speaker.
It was the lead detective on the case.
"Mr. Cross," she said, her voice tight.
"We found Jonathan’s car. Abandoned at a rest stop off I-95, about forty miles north of the city. There was blood in the back seat. We’re running tests now, but—"
"Is it Clara’s?" Nathaniel asked, his voice breaking.
"We don’t know yet," the detective said.
"But we also found a handwritten note. Addressed to Ms. Carter."
My head snapped up.
"What does it say?" I whispered.
The detective read it, slow and clear.
"Grace,
You took everything from me. My company. My reputation. My money.
Now I’m taking the only thing that matters to you.
If you ever want to see your daughter alive again, you will come alone to the old Blackwell mill on Route 7 at midnight.
No cops.
No Nathaniel Cross.
Just you.
If I see anyone else, I’ll kill her first.
Then I’ll kill you.
Don’t test me.
You know I will.
J."
The room went silent.
I stood up, my legs shaking, but my mind clear.
"I’m going," I said.
"Like hell you are," Nathaniel said, standing up too, grabbing my arm.
"It’s a trap, Grace. You know it is. He’s gonna kill you the second you walk through that door. He doesn’t care about Clara anymore. He just wants to hurt you. We let the police handle this. They’ll SWAT the place. They’ll get her out safe."
"And if they don’t?" I yelled, yanking my arm away.
"If they storm in and start shooting, and Clara gets hit? What then? He said no cops. He said if he sees anyone else, he kills her first. I can’t risk that. She’s my baby. I have to go. I have to try."
"He’s not gonna hurt her," Nathaniel said.
"She’s his daughter too."
I laughed, bitter and broken.
"You heard Sarah. He didn’t care about his own son when he threw her down the stairs. He doesn’t care about Clara. She’s just a pawn to him. A way to make me suffer. And if I don’t go, he’ll kill her just to watch me hurt. I can’t let that happen. I’m going. Alone. Whether you like it or not."
Nathaniel stared at me for a long time.
He knew I was right.
He knew there was no talking me out of it.
"Okay," he said, finally.
"But you’re not going in completely alone. We’ll have snipers on the roof. Tactical teams surrounding the building, hidden in the woods. They won’t move unless you give the signal, or unless they hear a shot. But you have to promise me—if anything goes wrong, you run. You get out of there and let them handle it. Promise me, Grace."
I nodded, tears streaming down my face.
"I promise."
At 11:30 p.m., we drove to the end of Route 7.
The old Blackwell mill was a huge, rotting brick building, dark and empty, surrounded by woods.
It had been closed for twenty years, since Jonathan’s dad had died and left the company to him, and he’d run it into the ground.
The police and tactical teams were hidden in the trees, invisible.
Nathaniel handed me a small, wireless earpiece.
"Put this in," he said.
"I’ll be able to hear everything. If you need us, just say the word. We’ll be in there in two seconds."
I put the earpiece in.
He pulled me into a hug, holding me so tight I could barely breathe.
"Be careful," he whispered.
"For Clara. For me. For all of us. Come back to me. Both of you."
"I will," I said.
I got out of the car, walking alone down the dirt road toward the mill.
The moon was hidden behind clouds.
The wind blew through the trees, making a sound like screaming.
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
I pushed open the big wooden doors.
They creaked loudly in the silence.
Inside, the mill was dark, just a single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the main floor.
Dust was everywhere.
Old, broken machinery rusted in the corners.
The smell of mildew and rot was thick in the air.
"Jonathan?" I called, my voice echoing off the walls.
"I’m here. Alone. Just like you asked. Where is she? Where’s Clara?"
A light turned on in the office above the main floor.
Jonathan stepped to the railing, looking down at me.
He was holding Clara in one arm.
She was crying, her little face red and puffy.
Maggie was tied to a chair behind him, a gag around her mouth, a cut on her forehead, her eyes wide with fear.
"Close the door," Jonathan said, his voice cold and dead.
"Lock it."
I did as he said.
My hand was shaking so bad I could barely turn the key.
"Good," he said.
"Now come up the stairs. Slow. If you run, I drop her."
He held Clara over the railing, over the concrete floor three stories below.
I froze, my blood turning to ice.
"Don’t," I whispered.
"Please. Don’t hurt her. I’m here. I did what you said. Just let her go. Let Maggie go. Take me. Do whatever you want to me. Just let them go."
Jonathan laughed, a crazy, hollow sound.
"Oh, I’m gonna do whatever I want to you, Grace. Don’t you worry about that. But first—you’re gonna watch. You’re gonna watch me take everything from you. Just like you took everything from me."
He turned, walking back into the office, still holding Clara.
I ran up the stairs, my legs heavy, my breath coming in gasps.
Inside the office, Maggie was still tied to the chair, sobbing behind her gag.
Jonathan was standing by the window, Clara still in his arms, a gun in his other hand.
He pointed it at me as I walked in.
"Kneel," he said.
I knelt on the dirty floor, my eyes locked on Clara.
She saw me, and she screamed, reaching her little arms out for me.
*"Mama!"*
It was the first time she’d ever said it.
My heart shattered into a million pieces.
"I’m here, baby," I said, my voice breaking.
"Mama’s here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I promise."
Jonathan laughed again, pressing the gun to the side of Clara’s head.
She screamed louder.
"Shut her up," he said.
"Or I’ll make her shut up forever."
I bit my lip, holding back my own sobs.
"What do you want, Jonathan?" I asked.
"Money? I’ll give you all the money you want. Nathaniel will give you anything. Just let her go."
"I don’t want your money," he said, spitting the words at me.
"I want you to suffer. I want you to feel the way I felt when you took everything from me. I want you to beg. I want you to cry. I want you to know that you’re the reason your daughter is gonna die. Because you were too stupid to know when to stay down."
He moved the gun from Clara’s head to mine.
"Beg," he said.
"Beg me not to kill her."
I didn’t hesitate.
I bowed my head, the tears falling onto the dirty floor.
"Please, Jonathan," I whispered.
"Please don’t kill her. She’s just a baby. She didn’t do anything to you. I’m the one you hate. Kill me. Shoot me. Do whatever you want to me. Just let her live. Please. I’m begging you. On my knees. I’ll do anything. Just let her go."
He smiled, cold and cruel.
"Good," he said.
"Now crawl to me. Like the dog you are."
I started to crawl.
Across the dirty floor, toward him, toward my baby.
I was ten feet away when I heard it.
A soft click from the earpiece.
Nathaniel’s voice, so quiet only I could hear.
*"Now, Grace. Duck."*
I didn’t think.
I dropped flat to the floor.
*BANG! BANG!*
Two shots rang out, so loud they made my ears ring.
Jonathan screamed.
The gun fell from his hand, clattering to the floor.
He dropped to his knees, clutching his shoulder, blood pouring through his fingers.
The door burst open.
Tactical officers swarmed in, yelling, guns drawn.
Nathaniel ran past them, straight to Clara, picking her up out of Jonathan’s arms, holding her tight, checking her over for injuries.
Two officers ran to Maggie, cutting her free, pulling the gag out of her mouth.
Two more cuffed Jonathan, dragging him to his feet, his blood dripping onto the floor.
I stood up, shaking, my whole body numb.
Nathaniel turned to me, Clara still crying in his arms, and held her out to me.
I ran to them, grabbing her, holding her so tight I was scared I’d break her, kissing her face, her hair, her little hands, over and over.
"You’re okay," I whispered, over and over.
"You’re okay, baby. Mama’s here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. You’re safe."
Maggie came over, her cut forehead bandaged, her arms around both of us, crying too.
Nathaniel held all three of us, his own tears falling onto Clara’s soft hair.
Outside, the sirens wailed, getting closer.
Jonathan was led out of the mill in cuffs, screaming that he’d get us, that this wasn’t over, that he’d kill us all one day.
But no one was listening.
He was done.
We’d won.
But as I held my daughter, her little heart beating fast against mine, I knew.
The scars from this night would never fully heal.
May you like
And the fight to keep our family safe...
Was far from over.
