Chapter 3 - The Search in the High Towers
At 8:30 that same Monday morning, thirty blocks away from the abandoned industrial lot where Lena's shack stood, the top floor of the Mercer Tower was in a state of quiet, terrifying siege.
The office of Arthur Mercer, the CEO of Mercer Shipping and the youngest billionaire in Ohio’s history, was usually a temple of silent, architectural control. But today, the air was thick with the scent of spilled coffee and cold, clinical panic.
Arthur stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his tailored charcoal suit wrinkled, his dark hair messy. At thirty-four, he was a man who ruled his shipping empire with a ruthless, calculated precision. He did not believe in luck, and he did not tolerate mistakes.
But twelve hours ago, his life had been dismantled.
"Sir," Victor, his chief of personal security, said as he stepped into the office. Victor's face was pale, his eyes bloodshot. "We've searched the medical transport route. The driver was found unconscious near the interstate. The vehicle was cleared out. The backup trackers were disabled."
Arthur didn't turn around. His gray eyes were fixed on the gray, winter sky over Lake Erie. "And my son?"
"There's no sign of him," Victor whispered. "The kidnappers... they didn't leave a ransom note. We believe it was an inside job, orchestrated by your uncle’s associates to force your signature on the logistics merger before the board meeting tomorrow."
Arthur’s hand tightened around his silver pen until his knuckles went white. His son, Julian, was only three days old. His mother had died in childbirth, leaving Arthur with nothing but the fragile, tiny boy who represented the only innocent thing left in the Mercer bloodline.
"My uncle wants the company," Arthur said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly quiet vibration. "He thinks if he holds my son, I will sign away the shipping lanes. But he underestimated one thing."
He turned slowly, looking at Victor with an icy, predatory intensity.
"I don't negotiate," Arthur said. "And I don't forgive. Put a five-million-dollar reward on the table. No questions asked. I want every street sweeper, every taxi driver, and every kid in Cleveland looking for that gray blanket. If someone is holding my boy, I want them to know that returning him is the only way they survive the week."
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"And if the police get involved?" Victor asked.
"The police are too slow," Arthur said, turning back to the window. "I have enough money to buy every police department in this state, Victor. Use it. Find my son."
