Chapter 4 - The Serpent's Nest
Walking into my penthouse felt like stepping into an execution chamber.
The lights were dimmed, soft jazz was playing over the surrounding speakers, and a bottle of vintage champagne sat in a silver ice bucket on the marble kitchen island. Tessa was sitting on the leather sofa, wearing a silk robe, sipping a glass of wine.
"There you are," she purred, standing up and gliding toward me. She wrapped her arms around my neck, leaning in for a kiss.
It took every ounce of my willpower not to snap her neck right then and there. I forced a smile, leaning down to lightly touch her lips while keeping my body rigid.
"Rough day with the board," I lied seamlessly, pouring myself a heavy glass of scotch. "The Whitmore-Cole merger documents required extra scrub-downs from the legal department."
Tessa’s eyes lit up with predatory greed. "Oh, darling, don't worry about the legalities. My father’s team handled everything. Once we sign the papers at the reception, our families will own forty percent of the entire regional market. No one will ever be able to touch us."
"Indeed," I said, taking a slow sip. "No one."
I walked toward the master bedroom, pretending to unbutton my shirt. "By the way, Tessa... remember that crazy ex-wife of mine we saw on the road the other day?"
Tessa paused, her glass halfway to her mouth. A subtle shift occurred in her expression—a momentary tightening around her eyes before her flawless smile returned.
"What about her?" Tessa asked casually. "I hope you aren't still thinking about that trash, Rowan. She made her choice when she betrayed you."
"Oh, no, of course not," I said smoothly, turning around to face her. "It’s just... those babies she had. They looked surprisingly healthy for living in poverty. It got me thinking about how ruthless people can be when they want to construct a lie. I was actually thinking about hiring Vance again just to do a sweep of her current contacts. Make sure she isn't planning to sue for alimony or make up some ridiculous story before our wedding."
Tessa’s hand visibly clenched around her wine glass.
"Oh, don't waste your money on Vance," she said a little too quickly. "You know how incompetent private investigators can be. Besides, my father’s security team keeps tabs on all potential threats to our family brand. If Maren tries anything, my father will handle it quietly."
"Is that so?" I smiled, walking closer to her and gently running a finger down her cheek. "You always think of everything, don't you, my sweet Tessa?"
"I only do what's necessary to protect what is ours," she whispered, leaning into my hand.
Protect what is ours. The words made my stomach churn. She wasn't just talking about wealth or corporate power. She was talking about the stolen boy.
Later that night, while Tessa lay asleep beside me, her breath steady and soft, I carefully slipped out of bed. I took her cell phone from the nightstand and slipped into the soundproofed home office.
Using a hardware cloner my technical team had provided, I extracted the full encrypted database from her phone within four minutes.
Among her archived messages was a locked channel using an end-to-end encrypted messaging app. I bypassed the code using the master key Vance had surrendered.
A recent message chain popped up on the screen, dated three days ago:
May you like
Sender (Tessa): "The nanny at the estate in Vermont says the boy is getting too unruly. He looks too much like Rowan every day." Receiver (Unknown): "We will move him to the safe house in Quebec next week after the wedding papers are finalized. Once the merger is complete, the boy will no longer be an operational risk."
Vermont. My missing son was being kept at the Whitmore family’s secluded mountain estate in Vermont.
