Chapter 4 - Four MinutesPeople think rich men don’t panic.
That is false.
We simply panic in cleaner rooms.
Maya lunged for the bottle.
I caught her wrist.
“They want you scared.”
“She’s dying.”
“They want you alone.”
“She’s my baby.”
“And if you step into that elevator, you may never see either daughter again.”
Her eyes burned into mine.
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” I said. “But I know men who use timers are usually lying about the clock.”
Ryan took a step forward.
“Daniel, give her the bottle.”
I turned my head slowly.
“Why?”
“Because if that infant dies in your building while you play detective, this becomes murder.”
“Interesting choice.”
His face tightened.
“Meaning?”
“You said in my building.”
Ryan stopped.
I looked at Sam.
He was sweating harder now.
“The video didn’t say where the baby was,” I said. “You did.”
Maya stared at Ryan.
“No,” she whispered.
Ryan’s expression changed in a way I had seen only twice before.
The mask disappeared.
Not fully.
Just enough for me to understand that the man I trusted had never existed.
He nodded toward Sam.
Sam reached inside his jacket.
My security chief appeared behind him before the gun cleared leather.
Malik Graves moved like a shadow and broke Sam’s wrist against the elevator frame.
The gun hit the floor.
Maya screamed.
Ryan did not move.
That was the second confirmation.
A guilty man reacts to violence.
A man in control watches to see who wins.
“Good,” I said softly. “Now we can stop pretending.”
Malik kicked the gun away.
“Boss?”
“Lock the elevator. Jam outgoing signals. Nobody leaves.”
Ryan’s mouth curved.
“You’re already too late.”
“Probably.”
He glanced at Maya.
“You should have taken the deal.”
Maya looked at him like she might kill him with her bare hands.
“What deal?”
Ryan ignored her.
I picked up the bottle and held it to the light.
The clear liquid shimmered faintly.
Not milk.
Not standard medication.
“This isn’t Lily’s dose,” I said.
Ryan’s silence answered me.
“What is it?”
Sam groaned from the floor.
“Don’t,” Ryan snapped.
Malik pressed a knee into Sam’s back.
I crouched in front of him.
“You have one working hand left. Use it to point us toward the baby.”
Sam whimpered.
“I don’t know exactly.”
Malik shifted his weight.
Sam gasped.
“Lower level. Old service wing. Cold room behind the wine storage.”
My penthouse had four floors, including a private service level I rarely used.
I looked at Ryan.
“You brought a stolen baby into my home.”
His eyes went cold.
“No, Daniel. You did.”
Then every fire alarm in the penthouse exploded at once.
Sprinklers burst overhead.
The lights died.
And somewhere beneath us, through concrete and steel, a baby began to cry.
Maya heard it.
So did I.
Her face changed instantly.
Not fear.
Recognition.
A mother knows a cry she was never allowed to hear.
May you like
“Sofía,” she breathed.
Then she ran.
