Chapter 2 - The Leverage
The heavy wooden door rattled violently on its hinges as another deafening knock echoed through the small living room.
Emily backed away, her spine pressing flat against the hallway wall. She wrapped her arms securely around Noah, shielding his tiny body with her own. The absolute, paralyzing terror in her eyes struck me harder than any physical blow ever could.
"Who is it, Emily?" I asked, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous register.
"The Vance brothers," she choked out, a tear finally spilling over her cheek. "The venture capitalists you bankrupted in October. They started having me followed the day the divorce was finalized. When they found out I was pregnant, they cornered me at a clinic. They told me if I ever told you about the baby, they would take him. They want their money back, Gavin. They want your company."
My blood turned to absolute ice.
She hadn't hidden my son because she stopped loving me. She had hidden him because being connected to my empire had put a target on his back. I had been sitting in my penthouse drowning in self-pity, while my ex-wife was fighting to protect our child from the monsters I had created.
"Open the door, Emily!" a harsh, raspy voice shouted from the porch. "We know you're in there. We saw the lights. We just want to wish the little heir a Merry Christmas!"
The doorknob twisted violently. A heavy boot kicked the center panel. The wood began to splinter.
I didn't panic. The billionaire CEO who calculated stock risks and managed PR crises vanished entirely, replaced by a ruthless, primal instinct I didn't know I possessed.
"Go into the bedroom," I ordered Emily, never taking my eyes off the fracturing door. "Lock it. Do not come out until I tell you to."
She hesitated, looking at my empty hands. "Gavin, they have weapons—"
"Go!" I roared.
She fled down the hall just as the front door burst inward, the deadbolt snapping and sending wood shards scattering across the carpet.
Cold winter wind howled into the warm living room, bringing two men with it. They wore heavy dark coats, their faces hardened by desperation. The taller one, Marcus Vance, stepped over the threshold, pulling a heavy black handgun from his waistband.
May you like
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me standing in the center of the room.
"Well," Marcus sneered, recovering his shock with a dark, ugly smile. "Look who decided to slum it for the holidays. The great Gavin Rowan. This just makes things a whole lot easier. You're going to sign the company over to us, Gavin, or we're taking the kid."
