Isolde stumbled into the hotel lobby, her vision blurred by tears. She fumbled in her purse for her phone. She had to call Clark. She had to try and explain. Maybe if she begged, he would understand.
The phone rang and rang. No answer.
Panic clawed at her throat. She turned back toward the dining room. Maybe she could talk to Jacques. Maybe she could apologize. Maybe-
The door flew open. Rudy Kowalski stormed out, his face twisted in rage. He spotted Isolde and marched over to her.
"You stupid bitch!" he shouted, spittle flying from his lips. "Do you know what you just did? Valdez just killed the deal! Three hundred million dollars, gone! Because of you!"
Isolde shrank back, her hands raised. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Sorry doesn't cut it!" Rudy grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in. "Clark is going to destroy you. You hear me? You're finished!"
He shoved her away, storming off toward the elevators. Isolde stood in the middle of the lobby, the stares of the hotel guests boring into her like needles.
Her phone rang. She looked at the screen. Clark.
She answered, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Clark, please, let me explain-"
"You're done." His voice was devoid of any emotion. The line went dead.
Isolde stared at the black screen. The fear that had been simmering in her gut exploded into full-blown terror. Clark's threats were never empty.
Bria.
She dialed the nanny's number. No answer. She dialed the school's front office. The line rang twice before a receptionist picked up.
"Manhattan Preparatory Academy, how can I help you?"
"This is Isolde Ruiz. I need to check if my daughter, Bria, is still at school."
"One moment, Mrs. Ruiz." A long pause. "No, ma'am. Her father picked her up over an hour ago."
The floor dropped out from under Isolde. "What? He wasn't supposed to-did he say where they were going?"
"No, ma'am. He had the proper identification. We couldn't stop him."
Isolde hung up, a scream building in her chest. She ran out of the hotel, into the chaotic Manhattan traffic. She hailed a cab, throwing a bill at the driver. "Manhattan Prep! Hurry!"
By the time she reached the school, the sun was setting. The playground was empty. The building was dark. She ran to the security booth, pounding on the glass.
"Where is she?" she yelled. "Where is my daughter?"
The guard shook his head, confused. "Ma'am, the school is closed. If you don't have custody papers-"
Isolde didn't listen. She ran to the curb, dialing Clark's number over and over. It went straight to voicemail. She texted Agnes. Nothing.
She wandered the streets, her mind racing. Bria was allergic to cats. Clark's mistress, Kelsey, had three Persians. If Bria was there, she could go into anaphylactic shock.
Isolde collapsed onto a bench, her body wracked with sobs. People walked by, giving her a wide berth. She didn't care. Her daughter was gone.
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
She opened it. It was a photo. A little girl with dark hair, standing in front of a dessert display. Her back was to the camera, but Isolde would recognize that little pink jacket anywhere. Bria.
Isolde scrambled to her feet. She zoomed in on the photo. In the corner, a poster advertised a jazz night. It was the hotel. The very hotel she had just left. The message felt calculated, timed perfectly to her despair. Whoever sent this wanted her back here.
She sprinted back toward The Cortland, her lungs burning. She burst through the revolving doors and ran into the main dining room. It was packed with people. She pushed through the crowd, her eyes scanning every face.
"Bria!" she screamed. "Bria!"
A waiter tried to stop her. "Ma'am, you can't-"
"Bria!" Isolde shoved him aside, running toward the back of the room.
Two security guards moved toward her. Isolde panicked, her eyes darting around the room. And then she saw him.
Jacques Valdez was walking out of a VIP corridor, his bodyguard Ken a step behind him.
Isolde didn't think. She just acted. She ran toward him, her hands outstretched. "Help me! Please, you have to help me!"
Ken stepped forward, his arm blocking her path. He was a wall of solid muscle.
"Please," Isolde begged, trying to see around him. "Mr. Valdez, please!"
Jacques walked past her. He didn't even look in her direction. His face was impassive, his eyes straight ahead. He treated her like she was invisible. Like she was nothing.
Isolde's knees buckled. She fell to the floor, the sobs tearing from her chest. She was alone. No one was going to help her.
