Chapter 2
The tension in the foyer thickened, pressing down on Ethan’s broad shoulders. He gripped the phone tighter, the dark ink of the tattoos on his hands and forearms flexing with his rising anger. The fact that Michael—his most efficient, loyal operative—sounded unsure was a massive red flag.
"Mr. Blackwood, please lower your voice," Michael said through the phone, maintaining his professional tone despite the obvious strain. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. The situation is complicated."
"Complicated?" Ethan sneered, stopping his pacing to glare at his own reflection in a massive antique mirror. "Nothing in my life is complicated unless someone is lying to me. Did she leave the city? Did she go to her sister's place?"
"She didn't go to her sister's, sir," Michael replied quietly. "Her sister hasn't spoken to her in a week."
Ethan felt a surge of hot, unadulterated fury. For the past four days, he had been entirely unreachable, secluded in a private mountain estate with Vanessa. He had turned his personal phone off, leaving the syndicate’s operations to his lieutenants. He had assumed Claire would just be waiting here, reading her books, arranging her flowers, being the quiet, dutiful wife he had married two years ago.
"Then track her phone, Michael!" Ethan barked, his sharp features twisting into a dangerous scowl. "You have the security clearances. Ping the GPS on her vehicle. Check her credit cards. Do your damn job before I find someone who will!"
"I already ran the traces, Mr. Blackwood," Michael answered, the hesitation returning to his voice. "Her vehicle is parked at O'Hare International Airport. It’s been sitting in long-term parking for roughly six hours. And her phone... her phone is turned off. The last ping was at the departure gate."
"An airport?" Ethan breathed out, the anger momentarily giving way to genuine confusion. "Why the hell is she at an airport? Did she book a flight? Where did she go?"
"I am still verifying the flight manifests," Michael stalled, though his voice lacked conviction. He knew the answer, but he was dreading the delivery.
Ethan’s patience completely snapped. The guilt of his affair with Vanessa, bubbling beneath the surface, violently morphed into aggressive projection. He needed to be in control. He needed to be the one dictating the narrative.
"Stop lying to me!" Ethan shouted, stepping toward the grand staircase. He kicked the abandoned black suitcase, sending it skidding across the polished marble. "You know exactly what flight she boarded! You are my assistant, Michael, not hers! If you are hiding her from me, I swear to God I will dismantle your life!"
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"I am not hiding her, sir," Michael said, a heavy sigh filtering through the receiver. "I am trying to figure out how to tell you what happened while you were completely off the grid."
"Tell me the truth, right now," Ethan demanded, his breathing growing heavier, his chest rising and falling beneath his fitted black shirt. "Or you are a dead man."
