Chapter 6
The snowstorm raged outside as Richard stood on the rear covered porch of the lodge, looking out into the white abyss. Below the property lay a massive frozen lake, its icy surface completely covered by fresh snow drifts. Across the lake, barely visible through the thick snowfall, a tiny amber light flickered from an isolated hunting cabin nestled deep in the pine forest.
Frank walked out onto the porch, holding two thermal tactical jackets. "Boss, the snow vehicles are ready. I’ve got four men standing by."
"No heavy squad," Richard commanded, pulling on his black gloves. "If there are too many engines, whoever is in that cabin will run into the tree line. Just you and me."
"Boss, it's minus fifteen out there," Frank warned. "The ice on the lake is thick, but near the eastern creek, it's unstable."
"I spent forty years running this valley, Frank," Richard said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I know where the ice breaks."
Ten minutes later, two high-powered black snowmobiles sliced through the deep snow, their bright headlights cutting through the blinding blizzard. Richard navigated the lead vehicle with practiced ease, his dark eyes focused through the storm. Beside him, Frank kept a watchful eye on the perimeter.
They crossed the frozen expanse of the lake in under five minutes, bringing the snowmobiles to a quiet stop beneath the heavy canopy of the pine trees. Richard dismounted silently, drawing his suppressed pistol from beneath his winter coat.
They approached the hunting cabin on foot, their leather boots sinking quietly into the fresh powder. Warm golden light shone through the small wooden window.
Richard nodded to Frank. Frank kicked the cabin's wooden door open with a thunderous crash, dropping low with his rifle aimed into the room.
"DON'T MOVE!" Frank bellowed.
Inside the small, wood-paneled room, a woman sitting near a roaring wood stove screamed, dropping a mug of hot tea onto the floor. She scrambled backward against the wall, her fair skin pale with sheer terror. She was in her late fifties, wearing a thick winter coat over a nurse’s uniform.
Richard stepped into the cabin, his tall, imposing figure filling the small doorway. He lowered his weapon slightly, his dark eyes analyzing the woman.
"Clara Evans," Richard said, recognizing her instantly. "You were Eleanor’s private head nurse at the Denver clinic five years ago."
"Mr. Bellacorte..." Clara whimpered, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she pressed herself against the timber wall. "Please... I didn't want any of this! They forced me!"
Richard walked over to the wooden table, pulling out a heavy chair and sitting down slowly. He set his pistol on the table with a quiet, metallic click.
"Sit down, Clara," Richard said softly. "And tell me why you've been living in hiding on my mountain for three years."
Clara swallowed hard, slowly edging toward the table and sitting on the edge of the chair. "Mark paid me... he paid me fifty thousand dollars to alter the delivery records when little Noah was born."
"Why?" Richard asked.
"Because Sarah didn't die during childbirth," Clara sobbed, covering her face. "Sarah was alive when Noah was born! She survived the delivery! But Mark... Mark took the baby immediately and locked Sarah away in the old estate cabin!"
Richard’s jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his face stood out like iron cord. "Why would Mark lock his own wife away?"
Clara looked up, her tear-filled eyes wide with horror. "Because Sarah wasn't Mark's wife, Mr. Bellacorte! Sarah was married to your younger son, Dominic! They were married secretly in Denver six months before Dominic died!"
Richard sat completely motionless. The air in the cabin felt frozen solid.
"Dominic was Noah's real father?" Richard whispered, the words tasting like lead in his mouth.
"Yes!" Clara cried. "Mark discovered the secret marriage after Dominic passed! He knew that if the family found out Sarah was carrying Dominic’s baby, Noah would inherit the entire Bellacorte empire! So Mark staged a fake marriage with Sarah in private, claimed the baby was his, and when Sarah tried to escape with the legal trust documents... Mark set fire to the estate!"
Richard slowly reached into his suit pocket. He pulled out the small handmade wooden airplane that little Noah had carried through the snow. He set it gently on the table between them.
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"Where did the boy get this, Clara?" Richard asked, his voice deathly quiet.
Clara stared at the wooden toy, fresh tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. "Because Sarah didn't die in that fire, Mr. Bellacorte. She escaped into the woods that night... and she's been hiding in the old abandoned ranger station on the northern ridge, waiting for a chance to get her son back."
