Chapter 5 - The Fortress Suite
The door of the SUV sealed shut with a heavy, pressurized thud, cutting off the wails of Carol Peterson and the sirens of the squad car pulling away with Megan in the back.
Inside, the leather cabin was warm, glowing with soft ambient light. Lily was sitting buckled into a child safety seat that Dr. Chen had secured in the rear row, wrapped in three heated blankets. She held a cup of warm apple juice with both hands, her eyelids drooping with exhaustion, but her small shoulders were still held tight in defensive tension.
"How is she?" I asked, sliding into the leather bench opposite Dr. Chen.
"The contusion is severe, Chloe, but there’s no skull fracture," Dr. Chen said, her voice low and soothing so Lily wouldn't take alarm. "I’ve administered an oral analgesic for the pain and swelling. However, she needs forty-eight hours of quiet observation. She took a significant blow to the jaw, which can cause micro-trauma to the inner ear. She’ll need follow-up imaging tomorrow morning at Lurie Children’s."
I reached back and took Lily’s tiny, cold hand in mine. Her fingers squeezed mine with surprising strength.
"Mommy?" she whispered.
"I’m here, baby. I’m right here."
"Are we going home?"
"We are going somewhere safe," I said. "A very tall hotel with soft beds and room service pancakes for breakfast."
"Is Daddy coming?"
I looked at Zoe, who was furiously typing on two different smartphones simultaneously. Her fingers flew across the screens with terrifying efficiency.
"No, Lily," I told my daughter, keeping my voice utterly devoid of anger. "Daddy has to stay behind and take care of his sister. It’s just you and me now. And Auntie Zoe."
Lily leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. A single tear tracked down through the red swelling on her cheek. "I didn't like the turkey anyway," she whispered, her voice fading into sleep. "It was dry."
I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the window, swallowing down the sob that tried to claw its way out of my throat. I couldn't break down. Not tonight. Not while the wolves were still howling outside the gate.
"Where are we going?" I asked Zoe.
"The Drake Penthouse Suite," Zoe replied without looking up from her screen. "The entire top floor is secured under the Holloway Group corporate account. Patrick has four men rotating twelve-hour shifts at the elevators and stairwells. Nobody gets off that lift without my personal authorization."
"What are you doing on those phones?"
Zoe looked up, her dark eyes glittering with cold, predatory intelligence. "First, I’ve retained Arthur Vance."
I stared at her. "Arthur Vance? Megan’s ex-husband?"
"The very same," Zoe smirked. "He’s the top family law litigator in the Seventh Circuit, and he despises the Peterson family with every fiber of his being. He knows where every offshore dollar, every hidden account, and every fraudulent tax return Frank Peterson ever filed is buried. He took the retainer five minutes ago with immense professional joy."
"And the second phone?"
"The second phone is managing the narrative," Zoe said, tilting the screen toward me.
On the display was a screenshot of a local news feed. *BREAKING: Prominent Public Relations Executive Megan Peterson Arrested for Aggravated Battery of Five-Year-Old Niece at Lincoln Park Residence on Thanksgiving.*
"How did that get out so fast?" I whispered.
"Dr. Harrison, the federal judge across the street?" Zoe raised an eyebrow. "His daughter is the senior assignment editor at the *Chicago Tribune*. Apparently, Megan’s firm represents three of the judge’s political enemies. The press release was drafted before the squad car cleared Clark Street. But that’s just the defensive perimeter, Chloe. Tomorrow morning, we launch the offensive."
"Mark’s promotion," I murmured, recalling his desperate pleas on the porch.
"Meridian Capital," Zoe said coldly, "manages four hundred million dollars of your family’s philanthropic endowment funds. Mark has spent the last three years taking credit for that relationship, pretending to his managing partners that he had Holloway capital under his personal thumb."
"He told them he was the bridge," I realized, the full architecture of Mark’s deceit becoming clear. "He used my name to secure his senior vice presidency."
"He used your silence," Zoe corrected. "You let him walk into boardrooms and play the prince because you wanted a quiet life in Lincoln Park. You thought if you gave him the illusion of power, he would be a loving husband and a good father." She reached over and squeezed my knee. "Well, the illusion is dead, Chloe. It died the second Megan put her hand on Lily. Now we show them the reality."
The SUV pulled under the grand portico of The Drake Hotel. The doorman, briefed in advance, kept the revolving doors completely clear. Patrick and Miller flanked us as Dr. Chen carried Lily, wrapped like an angel in cashmere, through the private service entrance directly to the dedicated express elevator.
As the elevator doors closed, cutting us off from the city below, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
It was a text from Mark.
*Chloe, you have ruined everything. Megan is sitting in a holding cell with criminals. My mother is on the verge of a heart attack. If you don't drop these charges and let us stay in the brownstone, I will file for emergency sole custody tomorrow morning. I will tell the judge you are clinically unstable and alienated our child from her family. You have until 8:00 AM to fix this.*
I stared at the glowing letters on the screen. My hands didn't shake. My heart didn't race.
I tapped the screen once, forwarded the message directly to Zoe, and then blocked Mark’s number on every platform I owned.
"He just threatened an emergency custody filing," I said.
May you like
Zoe glanced at her phone, read the forwarded message, and let out a laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping over marble. "Arthur Vance is going to frame that text message. It’s going to buy you Lily’s sole legal and physical custody by noon."
***
