AVERY'S POV
"Sign the approval for Lena's initiative, Avery," Lucas said, tapping his pen against the glass conference table. "We are not delaying the foundation vote again."
I kept my hands flat on the mahogany edge, refusing to look at the glossy proposal Lena had slid in front of me.
Lena offered a delicate, apologetic smile to the board members seated around the room. "If Avery feels uncomfortable, Lucas, please don't force her. I know she isn't used to sharing family resources. It must be hard when someone else steps into the spaces she thought belonged entirely to her."
A few board members exchanged murmurs of approval for Lena's supposed grace.
Two years ago, I would have slammed my files down and screamed until my throat tore. I would have demanded Lucas see through her calculated innocence. Today, I didn't even raise my voice.
I reached into my leather portfolio, pulled out a thick, sealed envelope, and slid it directly across the table to Mr. Keller, the foundation's chief counsel.
"What is that?" Lucas demanded, his brows drawing together.
"My formal resignation from the Hale Foundation board," I said, meeting his eyes with complete calm. "Along with an irrevocable delegation of the Mercer Trust’s approval rights on every pending foundation matter to an independent trustee. Everything is signed and notarized."
Lucas let out a sharp, dismissive laugh. "You're pulling this routine again? Every time you don't get your way, you threaten to pack a bag and walk out. Do you really think holding your presence hostage works anymore?"
"I don't expect anything from you, Lucas," I said, standing up and smoothing down my blazer. "This is the last meeting I will ever attend."
Without waiting for his answer, I turned and walked out of the boardroom.
The elevator took me down to the basement parking garage. The quiet of level B2 was absolute, broken only by the distant hum of the ventilation shafts. I pulled out my phone to check the message from Elliot's coordinator. The lease transfer on my new apartment was ready, and the movers were scheduled to arrive at five.
By tonight, I would be completely gone from the Hale residence.
A sudden squeal of tires shattered the stillness.
A battered grey maintenance van rounded the concrete pillar at full speed, cutting sharply across the lane and slamming to a halt inches from my bumper.
Before I could back away, the side door slid open with a violent rattle. Two men in dark hoodies and face coverings jumped out.
"Hey—"
A heavy hand clamped over my mouth before I could scream. The second man grabbed my waist, lifting me off my feet and shoving me toward the open van.
I thrashed wildly, driving the heel of my shoe into one man's shin and clawing at the other's neck. My fingers caught on a plastic lanyard tucked under his collar. With a desperate jerk, I ripped it free as he shoved me onto the van's steel floor.
I looked down at my clenched fist. The broken plastic tag bore only two bold letters: *O.W.*
A heavy boot kicked the badge out of my hand. A cloth soaked in harsh cleaning solvent was pressed against my nose and mouth. My vision fractured into dark spots, and the heavy sliding door slammed shut, plunging the world into blackness.
When I woke up, the smell of industrial chemicals and old rust filled my lungs.
My head throbbed with a sickening pulse. I tried to lift my hands, but thick zip-ties bit savagely into my wrists, binding them tightly to the iron leg of a workbench.
The warehouse was vast and decaying, filled with broken wooden pallets and cracked concrete. Sunlight leaked through shattered skylights high above.
The man who had lost his badge stepped in front of me, adjusting a phone mounted on a cheap tripod. He wore a heavy black mask, his dark eyes cold and impatient.
"She's awake," he called out to his partner near the door.
He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. The sudden strain on my neck made me cry out, and when I tried to pull away, his backhand struck across my face.
Pain flared across my cheek, and the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth from a split lip.
"Look right into the lens, Hale princess," he growled, positioning the camera inches from my face. "Five million dollars in twelve hours. If your brother tries to negotiate, we start sending you back in pieces."
The red recording light flashed on for twenty seconds, capturing every bruise and every drop of blood, before shutting off.
The kidnapper tapped the screen and initiated an encrypted video call. He placed the phone on a wooden crate directly facing me, tilting the screen so I could see it connect.
Lucas picked up on the third ring.
His face appeared on the display, sitting in his high-backed office chair. The moment the video feed rendered the warehouse, his expression shifted from irritation to stark shock.
"Avery?" Lucas leaned forward, his voice cracking. "What is this? Who the hell are you?"
"Five million by midnight," the masked man said into the microphone. "Transfer instructions will follow. If we spot police or private security, she dies."
"Don't touch her!" Lucas stood up so fast his chair rolled back into the wall. "I'll get the cash. I'm calling our private security team right now—"
"Lucas, wait."
Lena's voice cut in from off-camera. She stepped into the frame, her hand resting gently on Lucas's forearm. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the screen, calculating.
"Five million dollars?" Lena murmured, her voice soft but perfectly audible. "Lucas... isn't that the exact number Avery asked the family trust for two years ago when she wanted to start that boutique gallery?"
Lucas froze. His hand paused above his desk phone.
"She just signed away her board seat an hour ago," Lena continued, leaning closer to him. "She swore she was leaving forever. And now, suddenly, she's kidnapped and asking for the exact amount she was denied?"
"Lena, she's bleeding," Lucas said, though his voice wavered with sudden hesitation.
"You know how far she'll go to prove a point," Lena whispered, looking up at him with wide, concerned eyes. "Lucas... remember the stalker?"
Those four words hit like a physical blow.
On the screen, I watched the panic drain from my brother's face, instantly replaced by cold, contemptuous disgust.
"Avery," Lucas said, his tone dropping into icy anger. "If you hired these lowlifes to extort money from me because I wouldn't fund your business, you've crossed a line you can never come back from."
"Lucas, no!" I screamed through the blood in my mouth, straining against the zip-ties until the plastic sliced my skin. "It's real! Lucas, please, they're going to kill me—"
The masked man ended the call with a disgusted click.
"Pathetic," he muttered, shaking his head.
Ten minutes passed in suffocating silence before the cheap scanner on the crate crackled to life. The kidnappers had left it tuned to local dispatch traffic.
A dispatcher's steady voice came through the static: *"Unit Twelve, update on the Hale abduction report. The reporting party says the victim previously fabricated a stalker incident to stop him from taking an overseas trip and believes the current ransom demand may also be staged. Continue verification and preserve the original call recording before any tactical deployment."*
The transmission ended.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"He's just angry," I whispered, my voice trembling as tears finally spilled over my battered cheeks. "He's just saying that to throw you off. He's sending Hale security. Lucas is coming for me..."
The taller kidnapper slowly pocketed the phone.
He didn't look frustrated anymore. The professional, business-like detachment had vanished from his eyes. Instead, he stared down at me, his gaze lingering over my bound frame with a slow, venomous malice.
"Nobody is coming for you, little girl," he said, taking a step toward me. "Your brother just told the world you don't matter."
