Chapter 42 Found Her

Chapter 42 Found Her
The wooden doors of the Roosevelt Group headquarters swung open with a violence that startled the assistants in the lobby. Eleanor Roosevelt marched through the marble halls. Behind her followed a team of lawyers in charcoal suits, carrying briefcases that held the future of the company.

She didn't stop at the reception desk. She headed straight for the private elevator that led to the top floor—Mikael’s floor.

"Mrs. Roosevelt, you can't go up there without an appointment," a young security guard stammered, stepping into her path.

Eleanor stopped and looked at the boy. Her eyes were cold, stripped of any maternal warmth. "I built this company before you were born. Move, or find a new career by lunch."

The guard stepped aside.

The elevator ride was silent. Eleanor checked her reflection in the polished gold doors. She looked every bit the queen mother reclaiming her throne. With Mikael behind bars and the scandal reaching its peak, she assumed the board would be begging for her leadership. She assumed the transition would be a simple matter of signing a few papers and changing the locks.

When the doors opened to the executive suite, the air felt different. It was cold. It smelled of Mikael’s expensive cologne and old money.

She walked into the boardroom. The twelve members of the board were already seated. They didn't stand when she entered. They didn't even look up from their tablets.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Eleanor said, taking her seat at the head of the table.

"As you are all aware, my son is currently indisposed. The stock is dropping, the press is at the gates, and the brand is bleeding. I am here to step in as acting CEO until this legal matter is resolved."

Silence followed.

Eleanor frowned. "Is there a problem?"

Arthur Vance, the oldest member of the board and a man who had been a loyal friend to Eleanor’s late husband, sighed. He pushed a tablet toward her.

"We took a vote ten minutes ago, Eleanor," Arthur said quietly.

"And? I assume it was unanimous," she replied.

"It was. But not for you."

Eleanor stared at the screen. The document was a legal directive signed three months ago by Mikael. It was an ironclad contingency plan. In the event of his arrest or absence, all executive power was not to revert to the family, but to a blind trust managed by a nameless firm in Switzerland.

"This is a forgery," Eleanor snapped. "He was in a state of paranoia when he signed this. He wasn't thinking clearly."

"He was thinking perfectly," a new voice said.

The door opened, and Silas walked in. He wasn't wearing his usual tactical gear. He was in a suit that cost more than the security guard’s yearly salary. He carried himself with a confidence that infuriated Eleanor.

"What are you doing here, Silas?" Eleanor asked, her voice trembling with rage. "You are a glorified bodyguard. Leave."

Silas didn't leave. He stood at the end of the table, his hands behind his back. "I am the primary executor of the trust, Mrs. Roosevelt. Mikael knew that if he ever fell, you would be the first person to try and pick his pockets. He made sure that even from a jail cell, he remains the only one who can sign a paycheck in this building."

"I am his mother! I own forty percent of the voting shares!"

"And those shares have been tied up in a litigation freeze triggered the moment the handcuffs clicked," Silas replied smoothly. "The board has no power to appoint you. The company is on autopilot. Mikael’s autopilot."

Eleanor looked around the room. The men she had known for decades looked away. They weren't loyal to her. They weren't even loyal to Mikael. They were loyal to the system Mikael had built—a system that ensured they got paid as long as they followed his rules.

"You think a piece of paper can stop me?" Eleanor stood up, leaning over the table. "I have the press. I have the Vanderbilt connection. I can ruin this company before noon."

"If you do," Silas said, "the trust liquidates. Every asset you rely on—your penthouse, your accounts, your credit lines—they all vanish. Mikael was very specific. If he doesn't rule, no one does. He’d rather see the Roosevelt name burned to the ground than see it in your hands."

Eleanor felt a chill. She had raised a monster, and now that monster had locked her out of her own home.

"Get out," Silas said.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You have no standing here. Security will escort you to the lobby."
Eleanor grabbed her bag, her knuckles white. She looked at Arthur Vance. "You’re letting this happen? You’re letting a servant run the empire?"

Arthur didn't look up. "The servant has the keys, Eleanor. We just want the dividends."

Eleanor marched out, the sting of defeat burning in her chest. She had the girl hidden at the coast, but what was the point of a bargaining chip if the person she was bargaining with didn't care about the rules?

As she reached the elevator, she pulled out her phone.

"Is the girl still secure?" she demanded.

"Yes, ma'am," the voice on the other end said. "But the storm is getting worse. We’ve lost the perimeter sensors."

"Keep her locked down," Eleanor hissed. "If I can't have the company, I will make sure Mikael never sees his son."

Three hundred miles away, the wooden cottage sat on the edge of the cliff like a tomb. Lyara sat on the edge of the old wooden bed, her hands wrapped around her stomach. It was dark outside, and the sound of the rain hitting the roof was a constant, dull thud. Her mother, Elena, was asleep in the other room, her breathing aided by the quiet hiss of an oxygen concentrator.

A sharp, stabbing pain blossomed in Lyara's lower abdomen.

She winced, doubling over as she squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn't a contraction—it was too early for that—unit it was a dull, persistent ache that made her break out in a cold sweat.

"Not now," she whispered to the empty room. "Please, not now."

She stood up and tried to walk toward the window, but the pain flared again, forcing her to grab the bedpost for support. She felt a wave of nausea. She hadn't eaten much in the last two days. The "guards" Eleanor had left behind brought her bland soup and bread, but her stomach couldn't keep it down.

She looked at her phone. No bars. Zero.

She had tried every corner of the house. She had tried standing on chairs near the chimney. Nothing. The "Dead Zone" was real. She was cut off from the world, waiting for a signal that would never come.

She walked to the door and tried the handle. Locked. From the outside.

"Is anyone there?" she called out, her voice raspy.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. A small slot in the door slid open, revealing a pair of disinterested eyes.

"What?" the guard asked.

"I need a doctor," Lyara said, her hand pressing into her side. "My stomach... something is wrong. I need to see someone."

"The doctor comes on Thursday," the guard replied.

"It’s only Monday! I can't wait until Thursday. I'm pregnant. If something is wrong with the baby—"

"Those are the orders. No one in, no one out until the boss says so."

"The boss is in jail!" Lyara shouted, her fear turning into anger. "Do you even know who you're working for? Eleanor Roosevelt is just as much a criminal as her son."
The slot slammed shut.

Lyara sank to the floor, the cold stone biting through her leggings. She felt a tear roll down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly. She couldn't afford to be weak. Not here.

She thought about Jacob. In her mind, she kept replaying the last time she saw him—bloody and broken in that basement. She had no idea if he was even alive. She had no idea if Mikael had finished what he started.

Another cramp hit her. This one was sharper. It felt like a hot wire being pulled through her insides.

She crawled toward the bathroom, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She looked in the mirror. She looked like a ghost. Her skin was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She placed her hand on her bump.

"I will get us out of here," she told the baby. "I promise."

She heard a sound from outside. Not the rain. Something else.

The sound of a car engine struggling up the muddy cliffside road. She pulled herself up and looked through the small, high window. Two headlights cut through the fog. It wasn't the regular supply SUV. This car was moving too fast, sliding on the gravel.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Was it Eleanor? Or was it the FBI?
The car screeched to a halt in front of the cottage. Doors slammed.

Lyara heard shouting. The guards outside were arguing with someone. Then, the sound of a struggle—the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground and the unmistakable crack of a gunshot.

Lyara scrambled into the corner, hiding behind the heavy wooden wardrobe. She held her breath, her hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming.
The lock on her bedroom door clicked.

The door swung open, hitting the wall with a bang. A figure stood in the doorway, drenched in rain, his chest heaving. He was holding a gun, and his eyes were wild, searching the room.

It wasn't Mikael.

"Lyara?" the man whispered.

Lyara stared at him, her heart stopping for a beat. The man was thin, his clothes hanging off his frame, and his face was covered in bruises that were beginning to yellow.

"Jacob?" she breathed.

Jacob stepped into the room, his hands shaking as he lowered the weapon. He looked like he had crawled out of a grave.

"I found you," he said, a strange, broken laugh escaping his lips. "I told you I’d find you."

Lyara ran to him, ignoring the pain in her stomach. She threw her arms around him, smelling the rain and the metallic scent of blood on his jacket. "You’re alive. Oh my god, you’re alive."

Jacob held her, but his grip was too tight. It was painful. He was shivering, his entire body vibrating with an intensity that terrified her.

"We have to go," Jacob said, pulling back to look at her. "He’s coming, Lyara. He let me out so I would find you. He’s right behind me."

Lyara froze. The relief vanished, replaced by a cold, numbing dread. "What do you mean he let you out?"

"Silas... he gave me the map. He gave me the car," Jacob stammered, his eyes darting to the door. "They’re using me. I know they’re using me. But I had to see you. I had to get to you first."

Lyara looked at the open door, then back at the man she loved. He wasn't the same Jacob. His eyes were vacant, filled with a trauma she couldn't even begin to understand.

"Jacob, we have to call for help," she said, reaching for his hand.

"There’s no signal!" Jacob yelled, his voice cracking. "There’s nothing! It’s just us."
Outside, another set of headlights appeared on the cliffside road. These were slow. Methodical.

Lyara looked at the window. A black sedan was pulling up behind Jacob’s SUV.
The door of the sedan opened, and a man stepped out. He didn't rush. He didn't hide. He opened an umbrella and walked toward the cottage with the calm grace of a man visiting a friend.

It was Silas.

"He’s here," Jacob whispered, his face turning ghostly white.

Jacob raised his gun, pointing it at the doorway. "I won't let him take you. I'll kill him. I'll kill everyone."

"Jacob, stop!" Lyara cried out, grabbing his arm. "You can't win this way."

"I have to!" Jacob’s voice was a sob. "If I don't save you, I'm nothing."

Silas appeared in the doorway. He didn't look at Jacob’s gun. He looked at Lyara. He looked at her stomach.

"Mrs. Roosevelt," Silas said, his voice calm and polite. "The boss is very disappointed that you’re staying in such a drafty place. It isn't good for the baby."

"Get out!" Jacob screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Silas didn't flinch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He pressed a button and held it out.

A voice came through the speaker. It was low, distorted by the bad connection, but unmistakably Mikael.

"Jacob," the voice said. "Put the gun down. You’ve done your job. You brought her to me."

Jacob’s hand began to shake violently. "No... no, I saved her. I found her!"

"You were the compass, Jacob," Mikael’s voice continued, a chilling edge of amusement in his tone. "And now, the compass is no longer needed."

Silas looked at Lyara, a faint, humorless smile on his lips.

"Are you ready to go home, Lyara?" Silas asked.

Lyara looked at Jacob, then at the man in the doorway. The pain in her stomach flared again, sharper than ever, and she felt a warm trickle down her leg.
She looked down.

"Jacob," she whispered.

But Jacob wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the phone in Silas’s hand, his reality shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Is that a yes, Lyara?" Silas asked, stepping into the room.