Chapter 3 - THE TWO HOURS THEY STOLE FROM HER HUSBAND
“Then you left him there?”
Maggie's voice was barely audible.
Vincent Romano stood beneath the elevated train tracks, unable to meet her eyes.
The silver pocket watch rested in her palm.
Its broken hands pointed to 6:20.
“Answer me, Vincent.”
“I called for help.”
“Then why does the police report say my husband died more than two hours later?”
Vincent swallowed.
“Because Father told the police the crash happened at 8:40. By then Daniel was dead.”
Maggie pressed one hand against her stomach.
For four years, she had believed Daniel died instantly.
She had told Oliver his daddy hadn't suffered.
She had repeated that comforting lie every time their little boy asked why his father never came home.
Now she didn't know what to believe.
“Was he conscious?” she asked.
Vincent looked away.
“Briefly.”
“What did he say?”
Vincent hesitated.
Maggie grabbed his coat.
“What did my husband say?”
“He asked about you and Oliver.”
Her knees nearly gave way.
Adrian caught her elbow.
She pulled away.
Vincent continued quietly.
“Daniel kept saying that the records couldn't go back to Father. He said everything was supposed to reach Adrian.”
Adrian stared at him.
“Reach me?”
Vincent nodded.
“Daniel believed you would help expose the missing money.”
Adrian looked toward the dark street.
Four years earlier, he had been preparing to take control of the Romano family's legitimate businesses.
His father had encouraged him to review their accounts.
At least, that was what Adrian remembered.
Then Daniel disappeared into a car wreck.
And the investigation ended.
“Why didn't you tell me any of this?” Adrian demanded.
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Because two days after the funeral, Father showed me photographs of Maggie taking Oliver to preschool.”
Maggie slowly released his coat.
Vincent looked ashamed.
“He said families stay safe when sons know how to obey.”
“You could have gone to the police.”
“I should have.”
Those four words did nothing to repair what he had taken from her.
But Maggie heard something in his voice she hadn't expected.
Regret.
Real regret.
It didn't make Vincent innocent.
It only made his betrayal more complicated.
Detective Lena Ortiz arrived with two officers.
She was in her early forties, serious, practical, and unimpressed by the Romano family's reputation.
After hearing Vincent's account, she looked directly at him.
“You abducted a child. That doesn't disappear because someone abducted him from you.”
“I understand.”
“You'll give a complete statement.”
Vincent nodded.
Ortiz examined Daniel's pocket watch through an evidence bag.
“The stopped time isn't proof by itself. Watches can stop for different reasons. But if there was an earlier collision, somebody altered an official report.”
“There was,” Vincent said.
Ortiz asked whether anyone else had seen Daniel alive.
“An ambulance supervisor,” Vincent answered. “Northline turned him away before he reached the vehicle.”
“Name?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Samuel Price.”
Ortiz wrote it down.
Maggie looked at the detective.
“Can we find my son now?”
Ortiz met her eyes.
“That's the priority. And I'm going to need every one of you to stop hiding things.”
Her gaze settled on Adrian.
He accepted the warning.
By morning, Maggie's apartment looked exactly as she had left it.
The dishes were still drying beside the sink.
Oliver's sneakers sat beneath the kitchen chair.
His school backpack hung from a hook near the door.
Everything looked normal.
Except her son wasn't there.
Maggie walked into his bedroom.
The small wooden bed was unmade.
A dinosaur night-light glowed beside his pillow.
On the floor lay a green crayon.
Maggie picked it up.
Then she noticed a photograph pinned beside Oliver's school drawings.
It showed Daniel sitting with their son on the living-room rug.
Oliver had been three.
Daniel was repairing a little red train.
Maggie touched the picture.
“He loved that thing,” she whispered.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
“What was Daniel doing?”
“Oliver broke the caboose. Daniel fixed it before his birthday.”
“Did your husband often repair toys?”
Maggie gave a sad smile.
“He could fix anything. Washing machines, door locks, old radios. Once he spent three hours repairing Oliver's toy truck because he didn't want our son thinking broken things should always be thrown away.”
Adrian studied the photograph.
Daniel had a small screwdriver in his hand.
Beside him lay the red locomotive.
And a separate caboose.
Adrian pointed.
“Was the caboose attached when Oliver was taken?”
Maggie thought about the video.
Her son had been clutching the locomotive.
She hadn't seen the caboose.
“I don't know.”
She walked toward the toy chest.
Adrian remained behind her.
Maggie searched through plastic dinosaurs, building blocks, and stuffed animals.
Nothing.
Then she remembered something.
Two weeks earlier, Oliver had told her he was keeping the caboose somewhere special because Daddy had called it the safest part of the train.
She had assumed it was another childhood game.
Now she wasn't certain.
Across Chicago, Vanessa Whitmore sat in Carlo Romano's private office.
The retired patriarch was dressed in a charcoal suit.
Even at seventy-one, he carried himself with the certainty of a man accustomed to obedience.
Everett Rusk stood near the window.
Vanessa hadn't slept.
“Oliver Collins wasn't supposed to be taken,” she said.
Carlo continued reading a financial report.
“He's being cared for.”
“He's seven.”
“Children survive unpleasant experiences.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You promised nobody would hurt him.”
Carlo finally raised his eyes.
“And nobody has.”
“Then send him home.”
Carlo closed the folder.
“Daniel Collins took records that could destroy everything I've spent forty years building.”
“Then let the authorities examine them.”
Rusk gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
Carlo's expression didn't change.
“Those records would implicate people who haven't committed any crime.”
“Like Adrian?”
“Especially Adrian.”
Vanessa felt cold.
She had agreed to help Carlo because he claimed Maggie was hiding stolen financial records.
He had shown her bank transfers and sworn that Daniel's theft endangered the family.
More importantly, Carlo controlled the debt that had kept Vanessa's mother's assisted-living facility open.
If Carlo withdrew his financial guarantees, the facility could close.
Vanessa had convinced herself that helping him recover a toy was a small price for protecting innocent residents.
But Oliver's frightened face had destroyed that excuse.
“I want out,” she said.
Carlo leaned forward.
“You've already used Vincent's account to pay the investigator. You supplied access to the maid's home. And you authorized the surveillance.”
Vanessa went pale.
“You told me Oliver would be safe.”
“I told you we'd do what was necessary.”
Carlo pressed a button on his desk.
An image appeared on the wall monitor.
Oliver sat in a small upstairs room.
He was wearing his striped pajamas.
The red train rested beside him.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“Where is he?”
Carlo switched off the screen.
“That depends on whether Maggie remembers what her husband left behind.”
At noon, Adrian confronted his father at the lakeside estate.
Maggie accompanied him.
Marcus remained close, while Detective Ortiz arranged to question Carlo through official channels.
Carlo received them in the library overlooking Lake Michigan.
“You're embarrassing the family,” he told Adrian.
Adrian didn't sit.
“Where's Oliver?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“That's not an answer.”
Carlo looked toward Maggie.
“Mrs. Collins, I'm sorry for your circumstances.”
Maggie's face hardened.
“My circumstances?”
“Your husband made unfortunate decisions.”
“My husband died.”
Carlo folded his hands.
“Daniel took confidential records. Certain business associates became concerned.”
“So you had him killed?”
Carlo's expression remained calm.
“That's a serious accusation.”
Adrian placed a copy of the payment authorization on his father's desk.
“Northline Response received $180,000 with my signature.”
“Then perhaps you should explain why you authorized it.”
Adrian leaned closer.
“You told Vincent it was an emergency transfer.”
“And you signed.”
Carlo's voice was almost gentle.
“That's the problem with power, son. Eventually, someone expects you to remember what you've done with it.”
Maggie stared at the older man.
He wasn't denying the authorization.
He was reminding Adrian that the evidence could destroy him.
Adrian stepped back.
“I won't protect you.”
Carlo smiled faintly.
“You've spent your entire adult life protecting this family.”
“Not anymore.”
For several seconds, father and son stared at each other.
Then Maggie noticed something beside Carlo's desk.
A small drawing lay beneath a paperweight.
It showed three red train cars beneath a crooked yellow sun.
Her heart began pounding.
She knew those uneven wheels.
Oliver always drew them that way.
“Where did you get that?”
Carlo followed her gaze.
“A child made it.”
“My child.”
He said nothing.
Maggie crossed the room and picked up the drawing.
On the back were five words written in uneven pencil.
MOMMY, I WANT MY BED.
She pressed the paper against her chest.
“He's here.”
Carlo stood.
“Mrs. Collins—”
“He's in this house!”
She ran toward the library doors.
Adrian followed.
Marcus spoke urgently into his radio.
Then Maggie reached the glass hallway overlooking the estate's enclosed garden.
Beyond the garden stood a separate two-story guesthouse.
One upstairs window was illuminated.
A little boy stood behind the glass.
Striped pajamas.
Brown hair.
One small hand pressed against the window.
“OLIVER!”
The boy looked toward her.
His mouth opened.
“Mommy!”
Maggie ran toward the garden doors.
But before she reached them, a man appeared behind Oliver.
Everett Rusk.
May you like
He pulled the curtain closed.
And from somewhere inside the guesthouse, Maggie heard her son scream.
