My Pregnant Ex-Wife Was Rushed Into the Hospital—Then I Learned the Baby Was Mine and Her Secret Could Destroy My Entire Empire / Chapter 23 / 25

Chapter 23 - The Coordinated StrikeThe South Side industrial district was a sprawling maze of abandoned warehouses and rusted train yards. It was not a place for a seventeen-year-old girl.

I drove my armored SUV through the cracked streets like a madman, running every red light, my heart hammering a frantic, terrifying rhythm against my ribs. Elena was on the speakerphone, her voice tight with a suppressed, lethal panic.

"Her phone is completely dark, Lucian," Elena said, the sound of her typing frantically echoing through the car speakers. "The GPS signal died the moment she crossed into the warehouse sector. Someone used a localized signal jammer."

"A college sophomore doesn't have access to military-grade signal jammers," I snarled, taking a sharp turn that sent the SUV skidding across the wet pavement. "I knew it. I looked in his eyes and I knew he was a professional."

"David is pulling the boy's financial records again," Elena said, her voice dropping into the cold, calculated register she only used in a crisis. "If he forged his background, there has to be a crack in the foundation."

I slammed on the brakes as I reached the coordinates of Sofia’s last known location. It was an old, crumbling textile factory.

I didn't wait for my security detail. I kicked my door open, pulling the heavy handgun from my shoulder holster. I had sworn never to use violence again. I had built an empire of light. But if someone touched a single hair on my daughter's head, I would gladly burn in the dark for eternity.

I kicked the rusted side door of the warehouse open, stepping into the massive, echoing space.

It was empty.

No, not entirely empty.

Sitting in the exact center of the concrete floor was Sofia’s abandoned luxury sedan. The doors were locked. The windows were intact. There was no sign of a struggle.

"Sofia!" I roared, the sound bouncing violently off the steel rafters.

Silence.

I walked up to the car, shining my flashlight through the tinted glass. Sitting on the driver's seat was a single, white envelope.

My breath caught in my throat. I used the butt of my gun to smash the driver's side window, reaching in to grab the envelope.

I tore it open.

Inside was a high-resolution photograph. It was a picture of Elena’s biological father, Julian Croft, sitting in a European prison cell. And scrawled across the back, in elegant, cursive handwriting, was a message:

You exposed a father. It is only fair that I take yours.

"Lucian?" Elena’s voice crackled through my earpiece, frantic. "Lucian, what did you find?"

"It’s Julian Croft," I said, my voice shaking with a rage so profound it blurred my vision. "The boy isn't a random predator, Elena. It’s revenge."

"That's impossible," Elena breathed. "Croft died in an Italian prison three years ago."

"Then who the hell took our daughter?!" I shouted, pacing the empty warehouse like a caged animal.

"Lucian, listen to me," David’s voice suddenly broke into the comms channel. "I just broke through the encrypted firewall on the boy's redacted birth certificate. Elias Thorne isn't his real name. It’s an alias created by the European witness protection program."

"Give me his real name, David," I demanded.

"His real name is Elias Croft," David said grimly. "He is Julian Croft’s son. He’s Elena’s half-brother."

The realization hit me like a freight train. The boy hadn't targeted Sofia because of my money. He had targeted her because of the bloodline. He blamed Elena for exposing their father to Interpol twelve years ago. He had spent his entire life planning to infiltrate our family and tear our heart out.