Chapter 4 - the fire in the woods
Daniel didn't wait for another word. He signaled the security team outside the door.
"Hold them here," Daniel commanded. "Confiscate their phones. If any of them tries to step off this property, treat them as hostile intruders."
"Daniel, you can't detain us!" Lauren screamed, her aristocratic composure entirely gone. "This is unlawful imprisonment! My father is a judge!"
"Then call him from prison, Lauren," Daniel said coldly without turning back.
He sprinted down the hall to the sunroom. Ivy and Skye were sitting together on the couch, wrapped in their blankets. Skye had fallen asleep, her head resting on a soft velvet pillow, while Ivy stayed awake, guarding her sister like a tiny soldier.
Daniel knelt beside the couch, softening his expression. "Ivy... sweet girl. Can you tell Daddy about the house in the woods?"
Ivy’s lower lip trembled. She reached into the pocket of her faded dress, pulling out a small, charred piece of wood no larger than a coin.
"The bad men brought the red flowers," Ivy whispered.
"Red flowers?" Daniel asked gently, his heart squeezing. "Fire?"
Ivy nodded slowly. "Mommy told us to hide in the hollow tree by the creek. She gave me the bread. She told me to walk to the big water where Daddy's boats are. She said... 'Run, Ivy. Don't look back until you see the big white house.'"
Daniel closed his eyes, fighting back the burning tears that threatened to spill over. Claire had kept them alive in hiding for three long years in the dense forests of northern Wisconsin, evading Margaret’s private operatives. She had taught a three-year-old child how to navigate through miles of wilderness toward the only safe haven she knew: Daniel’s estate on Geneva Lake.
"Did Mommy get out of the house, Ivy?" Daniel asked, his voice shaking with a dread he could barely contain.
Ivy looked down at her hands. "Mommy was running behind us. But the lady with the shiny beads stopped her car on the road. Mommy shouted for us to keep running. We hid in the mud under the bridge."
Daniel stood up, his jaw clenched tight. Margaret hadn't just known about the fire—she had been there. She had personally intercepted Claire.
Daniel pulled his phone and dialed Captain Vance of the Wisconsin State Police, an old family friend who owed Daniel’s late father everything.
"Vance. I need a tactical unit and search-and-rescue teams deployed to the woods outside Bayfield immediately. Coordinate with my private helicopter. We have an ongoing kidnapping and attempted murder investigation involving Margaret Whitmore."
On the other end of the line, Vance gasped. "Daniel, are you serious? Margaret?"
"Get the helicopters in the air now, Vance. My wife is alive."
Ten minutes later, Daniel was on the rooftop helipad of his estate. The twin turbines roared to life, kicking up a cyclone of wind across the manicured lawn. He had left Ivy and Skye in the care of Dr. Henderson and four armed guards, with strict orders to protect them with their lives.
As the helicopter lifted into the twilight sky, heading north over the dark canopy of Wisconsin pines, Daniel stared out the window at the fading lights of the lake.
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For three years, he had lived in an emotional wasteland, burying himself in corporate takeovers and empty luxury, believing that the love of his life was ashes in a family crypt. Every milestone, every holiday, had been a hollow performance. And all the while, his mother had been hunting Claire through the northern woods like prey.
"Hold on, Claire," Daniel whispered against the roar of the helicopter blades. "I'm coming."
