Don Hadley McCall POV
The silence inside the armored Bentley pressed against Don Hadley's eardrums, heavier than the grave.
Hadley didn't blink. He just stared at the paper in his lap.
The numbers. The data. They didn't lie.
Eliza McCall. Biological Father: Derek McCall.
The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs.
He had let them treat a princess like a stray dog.
Worse. He had handed them the leash.
"Turn around," Hadley growled.
The driver looked in the rearview mirror, bewildered. "Sir? The Gala starts in twenty minutes. The convoy is already—"
"TURN THIS CAR AROUND!" Hadley roared, slamming his cane against the privacy partition.
The driver swerved, tires screeching in protest as he executed a sharp U-turn across three lanes of traffic.
"Find that social worker's car," Hadley ordered, his voice trembling with a rage he hadn't felt in decades. "Use every resource we have. I want eyes on it now. Get my granddaughter back."
They sped through the city, weaving through the evening gridlock, horns blaring around them.
But the social worker's sedan was gone.
Swallowed by the labyrinth of the city.
With a shaking hand, Hadley dialed his head of intelligence.
"Track the girl," he barked the moment the line connected. "I don't care what it takes. Find her. Now."
He hung up and slumped back into the leather seat.
He closed his eyes, but the darkness offered no relief.
He saw the blood on the lawn. He saw her near the trash. He saw the crude stitches on her leg.
We did that.
We did that to our own blood.
The car pulled up to the Estate gates far too soon.
He had to maintain appearances. The Gala was the event of the season. Every rival family, every politician in their pocket, was inside.
He couldn't show weakness.
He forced the tremor from his hands and composed his face into a mask of stone.
He walked into the ballroom.
It was a scene of grotesque opulence.
Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto silk and velvet.
Waiters circulated with champagne and caviar.
The air smelled of money, expensive perfume, and hypocrisy.
Kylie was in the center of the room.
It was her birthday.
She was wearing a pink dress that cost more than a house.
On her wrist, she wore the silver bracelet.
The Sawyer Heirloom.
It had belonged to Eleanora's mother. It was supposed to pass to the firstborn daughter.
To Eliza.
Kylie was laughing, holding court, basking in the adoration of people who feared her stepfather.
She saw Hadley and waved.
"Grandpa!" she chirped.
The word grated on his nerves like a knife scraping bone.
She wasn't his blood. She was a parasite.
Hadley walked to the head table.
Derek was there, pale but alive, sitting in a wheelchair. He had discharged himself against medical advice to be here.
Eleanora stood beside him, looking vacant.
Dionne was adjusting her pearls.
"Is the problem handled?" Dionne asked quietly, leaning in. "Is the girl gone?"
Hadley looked at his wife. For the first time in fifty years, he felt nothing but loathing.
"She is gone," Hadley said. His voice was the rumble of an approaching earthquake.
"Good," Derek said, taking a sip of whiskey. "Now we can focus on the family."
"The family," Hadley repeated, the word tasting like ash.
He watched a maid hurrying toward their table, trying to be discreet while carrying a box.
"What is that?" Hadley asked.
"Just some things from the basement," the maid said nervously, glancing at Kylie. "Miss Kylie ordered us to clear out the girl's room."
Hadley looked into the box.
It was meager. A few drawings. The dirty grey dress. And a photo.
A photo of Eliza holding Eleanora's hand, taken moments before the kidnapping.
Kylie walked over, grabbing a silver lighter from the table.
"Let me," she giggled, snatching the box. "I want to get rid of this junk myself."
She flicked the lighter open, the flame dancing dangerously close to the corner of the dress.
Something in Hadley snapped.
It wasn't a thread. It was a cable.
He lifted his heavy cane and brought it down hard onto the banquet table.
THUD.
The sound was deep and final.
The music stopped.
The chatter died.
Three hundred guests turned to look at the Don.
Kylie dropped the lighter, startled.
"Grandpa?"
"Do not call me that," Hadley snarled.
He walked over to the box and pushed the lighter away with the tip of his cane.
He picked up the photo.
He looked at Derek.
"You wanted to erase the shame," Hadley said, his voice carrying to the back of the room. "You wanted to cleanse the bloodline."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the DNA file.
He threw it onto the table. It slid across the linen and stopped in front of Derek.
"Read it."
"Dad, this isn't the time—"
"READ IT!" Hadley bellowed.
The room was frozen in terror. Nobody moved.
Derek set down his glass. His hand shook slightly as he opened the folder.
He read the first page.
He frowned.
He read the second page.
His face went white. Whiter than the sheets he had nearly died in.
The air left his lungs.
"No," he whispered.
"Yes," Hadley hissed.
Derek looked up. His eyes were wide, filled with a horror that no torture chamber could inflict.
He looked at Eleanora.
"El," he choked out. "The dates... look at the dates... before the kidnapping..."
Eleanora blinked, coming out of her fog. "What?"
"She was mine," Derek said. His voice broke. "She was mine the whole time."
Eleanora grabbed the paper.
She read it. She screamed.
It was a sound of pure agony.
She collapsed to the floor.
Kylie looked around, confused. "What's going on? Why is everyone—"
Hadley turned to Kylie.
"Get out of my sight," he said.
He looked back at his son.
"You starved her," Hadley said, listing the sins like a judge reading a death sentence. "You let her eat from the trash. You let this... impostor... hunt her with a dog. You threw her away."
Derek was weeping. The Dark Underboss, the man who cut fingers off without blinking, was sobbing.
"I didn't know," Derek pleaded. "I thought—"
"You didn't look!" Hadley roared. "You were too blind with pride to look at your own eyes staring back at you!"
He pointed to the door.
"She is gone. My granddaughter is gone."
Hadley leaned in close to Derek.
"And if we don't find her... if anything happens to her out there..."
He straightened up, addressing the entire room.
"Then the McCall line ends today."
The cliffhanger hung in the silence, heavy with the promise of violence and regret.
But it was too late.
The bird had flown.
And the cage was empty.
