Chapter 299: Kidnap

Chapter 299: Kidnap
Time fractured into sharp, painful fragments after that. Each minute stretched endlessly as James mobilized his security team, police officers filled his office with questions I could barely comprehend, and technicians hunched over screens analyzing every camera feed between Winthrop Academy and my father's house.

I sat in James's office at Thornton Tower, staring at the security footage on the large screen. The images showed Mrs. Jenkins leading the twins to our regular car, the children chattering happily as they climbed inside. A text notification appeared on my phone at 3:42, supposedly from Mrs. Jenkins: "Stopping at Denton's for a quick treat. Harper's request. On our way after."

"That part checks out," one of the security analysts said, pointing to footage of the car parked outside the upscale candy store. "They're inside for about eight minutes."

But the next piece of footage showed something alarming. As they exited the candy store, the car made an unexpected turn at the next intersection, heading away from my father's neighborhood.

"There," James said sharply. "That's not the route to Liam's place."

My stomach twisted with fear. "Can we follow where they went?"

"Working on it," the analyst murmured, fingers flying over the keyboard. "We've got them on Third Avenue cameras, then—" He paused. "Sir, the car pulls into this alley here, and we lose visual."

James's jaw tightened. "Get me everything from surrounding cameras. Private businesses, traffic feeds, anything."

An hour later, they found the car abandoned near Central Park. Police arrived at the scene to find both Mrs. Jenkins and our driver unconscious in the front seats. An empty syringe lay on the floorboard. The back seat where the twins should have been was empty, save for a small candy wrapper and Harper's favorite hairband.

I collapsed into James's arms when the report came in, my legs no longer able to support me. "James," I sobbed, clinging to him. "Our babies..."

"We'll find them," he promised, his voice steady despite the agony in his eyes. "I swear to you, El, we'll get them back."

My father arrived at Thornton Tower shortly after, his face ashen. The news that Mrs. Jenkins had been drugged but was expected to recover did little to comfort any of us. By nightfall, Liam looked so ill that James called a doctor to examine him.

"Light sedative," the physician explained quietly after my father had been helped to a guest room. "His blood pressure is dangerously high. He needs rest."

I nodded numbly, unable to process anything beyond the gaping void where my children should be. Every minute that passed was torture, each second stretching into eternity. James maintained a facade of control, barking orders, coordinating with police, analyzing information—but I caught the moments when he thought no one was watching, the brief flashes of raw terror and anguish before he locked them away again.

At precisely 10:30 that night, James's private line rang.

The entire room went silent as he answered, putting it on speaker.

"Hello, brother." William's voice, smooth and cultured despite the static of a voice distorter, filled the room.

James's knuckles went white as he gripped the edge of his desk. "Where are my children?"

"Safe. For now." Something in William's tone made my skin crawl. "They're quite charming, James. The boy has your stubborn streak, and the girl—well, she hasn't stopped talking since I met her. Quite exhausting, really."

I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob, the image of my children in William's hands almost more than I could bear.

"What do you want?" James asked, each word measured and controlled.

"One hundred million dollars. Cash. Non-sequential bills. A helicopter with a full tank of fuel. And a pilot with no heroic inclinations."

James didn't hesitate. "Done. When and where?"

"So eager," William laughed. "I'll contact you in two days with the exchange location. Don't involve the police any further than you already have, or the deal's off."

"I need proof they're alive and unharmed," James insisted. "Let me hear their voices."

The line went dead.

"Son of a bitch," James snarled, slamming his fist onto the desk with such force that a crack appeared in the polished surface.

I sank into a chair, my mind racing with horrific possibilities. "James," I whispered, "if anything happens to them—"

"Nothing will happen," he cut me off, kneeling before me and taking my hands in his. "I will get our children back. Whatever it takes."



The next two days were the longest of my life. I moved as if in a nightmare, unable to eat or sleep, jumping at every sound. James worked tirelessly, arranging for the money, securing a helicopter, searching for pilots willing to fly under such dangerous conditions.

When William finally called again, his instructions were clear. The exchange would happen on the roof of an abandoned apartment building in Queens. James would bring the money and the helicopter, William would bring the children. 

"No police," William warned. "No security teams. Just you, James."

As the deadline approached, a new problem emerged—the professional pilot James had hired backed out, citing the extreme danger of the situation. 

"I'll do it," Marcus said simply, stepping forward. "Three years Army experience before private security. I'm qualified on this aircraft model."

I watched as they loaded the duffel bags of cash into the helicopter, each movement precise and methodical. James checked his watch repeatedly, his expression growing more determined with each passing minute.

As he prepared to board, I grabbed his arm. "James, I should come with you."

"Absolutely not." His voice left no room for argument. "If anything goes wrong—"

"They're my children too!"

"Which is exactly why you can't be there." He cupped my face in his hands, his eyes burning with intensity. "If this is a trap, I won't risk both of us. The twins need at least one parent to come home to."

The logic was sound, but it did nothing to ease the crushing weight in my chest. I clung to him, memorizing the feel of his arms around me, terrified it might be the last time.

"Bring them home," I whispered against his chest. "All of you."

"I will." He pressed his lips to my forehead, then pulled away, his expression hardening into that of a man prepared to do whatever necessary to protect his family.

As the helicopter's rotors began to spin, I stood back, watching the aircraft lift into the night sky. Please, I prayed silently, to whatever god might be listening. Please bring my family home safely.