The night before, at a charity gala at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, Noah had vanished into the throng of people. I was frantic, my world splintering before my eyes.
Two hours later, a call came from an unknown number.
The voice on the other end was hoarse and greedy. "If you want your son back in one piece, get two hundred thousand dollars ready. No cops."
My palms broke out in a cold sweat. My voice trembled as I asked, "Where do I bring the money?"
The man gave me the address of an abandoned pier in the Back Bay. "Leave the money behind the red container at Pier 3. I see the money, the boy goes home. Simple. Be quick. You're late, and I can't guarantee what condition you'll find him in."
The line went dead before I could ask another question.
I forced myself to stay calm, chanting a mantra in my head as I sped toward Curtis's corporate headquarters. Two hundred thousand is pocket change for Curtis. Noah will be back soon. He has to be.
I bypassed the front desk and burst into Curtis's office without knocking.
The scene that greeted me made my heart plummet.
A little girl was perched on Curtis's lap, and he was gazing at her with a tenderness I had never, not once, seen him show anyone. Beside him, a woman watched them with a soft, knowing smile.
It was Chloe, the daughter of the Prescott family's former CFO, and her daughter, Maya. I recognized them from old family photos.
The moment I entered, the laughter died. The air froze, and I was the unwelcome intruder who had shattered their perfect moment.
Curtis looked up, his expression hardening. "Ava, have you no manners? Don't you know how to knock?"
I had no time for pleasantries. Fighting back tears, my voice came out choked. "Curtis, Noah's been taken. They want two hundred thousand dollars."
Curtis, however, seemed completely unbothered, casually stroking Maya's hair. "Missing? Don't panic. Prescott men are forged by hardship. It's how they grow strong."
I couldn't hold it back any longer. I screamed, "Curtis, he's just a child! He's only five years old!"
Unmoved, he pressed the intercom on his desk and coldly ordered, "Escort Mrs. Prescott out."
My heart twisted into a painful knot. Casting my dignity aside, I fell to my knees before him, the words tumbling out in a desperate, incoherent plea. "I'm begging you, Curtis. Two hundred thousand is nothing to you, but every minute we wait could be fatal for Noah. He's just a child; he doesn't deserve this. Please, just save him."
Chloe came over to help me up, her voice dripping with false sincerity. "Ava, don't worry. Curtis won't just abandon Noah. He is his flesh and blood, after all. You should go home and wait for news."
Curtis shot me a cold glare. "Look at Chloe—so composed. Why can't you be more like her instead of making a scene?"
The last of my hope fractured into a million pieces. Tears blurred my vision as I staggered to my feet, leaning weakly against the doorframe. Curtis could be cruel to me, but he had no right to punish our son for his own resentment.
He snorted contemptuously. "Alright. Stop being an eyesore. Go home and cool off."
I took a deep breath and turned away from that suffocating office.
As I walked down the hall, I heard laughter bubble up from the office again, as if our son's disappearance was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
