Chapter 207 Do Not Touch My Son
"Contracts burn," I replied. I closed the distance. I stood three feet away from him. I looked up into his face. "If you step foot inside that school, I will not let my men shoot you. I will let you take my son. And then I will spend the next ten years hunting you down. I will bankrupt your family. I will buy the bank that holds your mortgage. I will ruin your life in ways a bullet could never achieve."
I let the threat settle in his bones.
"Or," I continued, "you take the five million. You walk away. You tell Julian Whitmore his paper is worthless."
The courtyard sat in suffocating silence. The Johnston guards kept their rifles steady. The fake marshals lowered their weapons, calculating the odds. A gunfight with elite corporate security offered death. A bribe from a billionaire offered early retirement.
The lead man swallowed hard. He looked at the school doors, then back to me.
"Wire the money," the man demanded.
"Vargas," I said. "Get his routing number."
I turned my back on the strike team. I did not wait for the transaction to complete. I walked up the concrete steps and pulled the heavy glass doors of the school open.
The hallways smelled of floor wax and old paper. The fire alarm blared, a screeching, rhythmic pulse. Teachers hurried down the corridors, ushering frightened children into locked classrooms.
I ignored the chaos. I moved with singular purpose.
I reached the library at the end of the east wing. The thick wooden doors were locked. I pounded my fist against the wood.
"Open the door!" I yelled. "It is Minerva!"
A second later, the lock clicked. The principal, a pale, terrified woman, pulled the door open.
I pushed past her. The library was dark. The blinds were drawn. A dozen four-year-olds sat on the reading rug, huddled together.
I scanned the small faces.
"Mommy!"
Elias broke from the group. He ran across the carpet. He wore his school uniform, a tiny blue sweater and gray trousers. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
I dropped to my knees. I caught him.
I wrapped my arms around his small body. I buried my face in his dark hair. He smelled like crayons and juice. A ragged, shattered breath ripped from my lungs. The Chairman vanished. The mother bear took over. I held him so tight my muscles burned.
"I got you," I whispered. I kissed his head. "I got you, baby. You are safe. Nobody is going to touch you."
"The alarm is loud," Elias sobbed into my shoulder.
"I know," I smoothed his hair. "We are going home. Right now."
I stood up. I lifted Elias into my arms. He buried his face in the crook of my neck. He wrapped his small legs around my waist. I carried him out of the library. I walked down the long hallway, out the glass doors, and back into the courtyard.
The unmarked vans were gone. Vargas stood by the open door of my SUV.
I climbed inside. I settled Elias onto the leather seat beside me. I buckled his harness. I brushed the tears from his face.
"Drive," I ordered Vargas. "Take us to the secure penthouse. Full lockdown."
The convoy rolled out of the ruined courtyard. We left the school behind.
I sat in the quiet cabin. Elias rested his head on my lap, his breathing slowing as the exhaustion of the panic took over. I stroked his hair.
Julian Whitmore targeted my child. He weaponized a courtroom to steal the only thing that mattered to me. He thought a piece of paper made him untouchable. He thought the law bound my hands.
He was wrong.
The law was a suggestion. Power was the only truth. Tristan understood that. Thomas Whitmore understood that. It was time I stopped playing by the rules of civilized society.
I reached into my purse. I pulled my phone out. I dialed Ricardo again.
"Is Elias secure?" Ricardo asked. Panic edged his voice.
"He is with me," I confirmed. I stared out the tinted window. The city skyline looked like a battlefield. "Julian sent a private extraction team. I bought them off. But he will try again. He will keep using the courts to bleed me."
"We can file a counter-injunction," Ricardo suggested. "We can tie the custody battle up in family court for months."
"No," I rejected the idea. "I am done playing defense. I am done waiting for Julian to strike."
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to cut the head off the snake," I stated. The cold void in my chest solidified into pure, weaponized steel. "Julian derives his power from the Whitmore name. He derives his funding from Thomas Whitmore's ghost accounts. Without Thomas, Julian is nothing."
"Thomas is in a supermax prison," Ricardo reminded me. "He signed the power of attorney. He cannot undo it."
"He can undo it if I give him a reason to," I said.
I looked down at my sleeping son. I would burn the world to keep him safe. I would descend into the darkest pit of hell if it meant destroying the monsters who threatened his life.
"Get the jet ready," I commanded Ricardo.
"Mina, where are you going?"
"I am going to the federal penitentiary," I said. The words tasted like iron and ash. "Set up a visitation. I need to see my father.”