Part 4: The Blood Trail
My hands shook so violently I almost dropped the phone onto the floor of the airplane cabin. The man who thought he killed you thirteen years ago. The words burned on the screen like a death sentence.
Frank leaned over my shoulder and looked at the screen. His tight, professional expression vanished instantly. A deep wrinkle appeared on his forehead.
"That's not possible," he whispered. "He should be dead."
"Who?!" I almost shouted, no longer able to suppress my emotions. A few passengers in the rows ahead turned their heads, but I didn't care anymore. "Who has my son, Frank? Stop talking in riddles! My child has been kidnapped!"
Frank grabbed my shoulders firmly; his grip was hard but anchoring. "Listen to me, Emma. You must keep your cool. If you panic now, you're useless to Luuk. Do you understand that?"
I took a deep breath, though my lungs felt as if they were full of glass. I nodded slowly. "Tell me who it is."
"Thirteen years ago," Frank began as the plane slammed hard onto the runway and the engines roared to brake, "it wasn't just an accident. The man who ran your car off the road was Victor Vance. Julian's younger brother. Julian wanted to protect you and the child, but Victor discovered the existence of the pregnancy. He wanted to prevent there from being an illegitimate heir who could claim the Vance family empire."
The plane taxied down the asphalt. It was pouring outside; heavy drops beat against the window.
"Victor thought he killed you that night," Frank continued in a low voice. "When you ended up in the clinic and Mark hid the baby, everyone assumed Victor was satisfied and backed off. Three years ago, it was reported that Victor had died in a hunting accident in Scotland. His body was never found, but the family declared him dead to divide the inheritance."
"So he's still alive," I said, cold sweat running down my back. "He's waited all these years. He knew the term of the will expired on Luuk's thirteenth birthday."
"Exactly," said Frank. He stood up as soon as the seatbelt sign turned off. "We have to go now. No baggage. Straight to the car."
We made our way through the rows of rushing passengers. My heart pounded in my throat. As soon as we walked out the jet bridge, we turned into a side corridor accessible only to authorized personnel. Frank pulled out a black badge and swiped it through a reader. The heavy steel door clicked open.
We descended a stairwell leading to the underground service tunnels of the airport. A black, armored SUV was waiting there with the engine running. A man in a similar dark suit stepped out and opened the door.
"Trouble, Frank?" asked the driver with a raspy accent.
"Victor is alive," Frank said curtly as he pushed me into the back seat and climbed in himself. "He has the boy. And he has a head start of at least two hours."
The car shot away through the tunnel with squealing tires, toward daylight. The windshield wipers beat wildly against the driving rain.
"Where are we going?" I asked, holding onto the handle above the window. "To my mother's house?"
"No," said Frank, pulling out a laptop and beginning to type feverishly. "Your mother is safe, as far as we know. Mark left her behind when he discovered Luuk was already gone. Victor beat him to it. We're going to the only place Victor can keep Luuk hidden until the will expires."
"Where is that?"
"The old Vance family estate, just across the border in Belgium. A remote place where no one goes. If Victor holds the boy there until midnight tomorrow, Luuk's legal right to the inheritance expires, and everything automatically goes to Victor's secret foundations."
"And what happens to Luuk when that time is up?" I asked with a choked voice, though deep down I already knew the answer.
Frank didn't look up from his screen, but his silence was harsh enough. "Victor leaves no witnesses, Emma. Never."
I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. For thirteen years, I had fooled myself into thinking I wasn't a mother. For thirteen years, I had mourned a life stolen from me, thinking the blame lay with me and my own failures. But now it turned out my son was out there, scared, alone, and locked away by a monster who wanted both of us dead.
"How are we going to get in there?" I asked. "If it's a billionaire's estate, it must be heavily secured?"
"It is," said Frank. He finally looked at me. "That's why we're not going alone. You have something Victor needs, Emma."
"What? I have nothing!"
Frank pointed to the thick white envelope I was still holding tightly against my chest. "Your sister's letter. And the savings booklet. But above all: the original birth certificate your sister slipped into that envelope. Without that certificate, Victor can never permanently transfer the money to his foundations, even if the term expires. He needs your signature and that paper."
I stared at the envelope. My sister hadn't just given me the truth; she had also given me the key to my son's survival.
Suddenly, the car braked so hard the tires screeched across the wet asphalt. I flew forward against the seat in front of me.
"What is it?!" shouted Frank.
The driver reached for his inner pocket. "Roadblock. Two black SUVs blocking the road. It's not the police."
Through the soaking wet windshield, I saw two large off-road vehicles parked right in the middle of the empty polder road. The doors of the cars swung open. Three men with automatic weapons stepped out and pointed their rifles straight at our car.
One of the men stepped forward. He wore a long trench coat. When the light of our headlights hit his face, I felt the blood drain from my face.
It was Mark. My ex-husband.
He held a walkie-talkie to his mouth, and his voice suddenly echoed through our car speakers, hacked via a shortwave frequency:
"Get out, Emma. You're just in time to make a choice. Do you choose the dead father's money... or do you choose your son's life?"
