No matter what it takes. He smirked. Strong words.
But you’ve always been weak, Emily. Always leaned on others. On me.
On my family. What can you possibly do without us? You’re nothing. You’re wrong.
You’ve always been wrong about me. And that will be your biggest mistake. Ryan’s voice boomed again from the speaker outside.
This is your last chance, James Prescott. Come out with your hands up, or we’re coming in. James looked at me, then at the door, then back again.
For the first time since our conversation began, I saw fear flicker in his eyes. He knew he was cornered, there was no way out. They won’t take me alive, he said, his voice trembling.
I’m not spending the rest of my life in prison. James, surrender. It’s the only way.
No. There’s still one more option. He rushed to the desk, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out a gun.
I froze, watching as he raised it and pointed it at me. What are you doing? What I should’ve done a long time ago. Ending our story.
I heard glass shatter, the police had begun the breach. James heard it too. He glanced nervously toward the noise, then back at me.
Goodbye, Emily, he said, lifting the gun. Time seemed to stop. I saw his finger tightening on the trigger, the barrel aimed squarely at my chest.
In that instant, my entire life flashed before me, my childhood, youth, meeting James, Catherine’s birth, 20 years of marriage. And I knew I didn’t want to die. Not now.
Not while my daughter was still in danger. Not at the hands of a man who had betrayed everything I once believed in. I dove to the side just as he fired.
The gunshot rang out, deafening. The bullet missed and slammed into the wall. I hit the floor hard, rolled, scrambling for cover behind the sofa.
James aimed again, but before he could shoot, the door burst open with a crash, and police stormed the room. Dropped the weapon. Now, they shouted.
James froze, staring at them, then at me, then back at the officers. His face twisted with rage and despair. And then, to my horror, he turned the gun on himself.
No. I screamed, but it was too late. The shot cracked like thunder.
James collapsed to the floor. Blood spread quickly across the pale carpet, forming a grotesque halo around his head. I stared at him, stunned, unable to process what had just happened.
The man I had spent 20 years of my life with had taken his own life in front of me. My husband. Catherine’s father.
The officers rushed to him, checked his pulse, but it was obvious. He was gone. Others came to me, helped me to my feet.
Are you hurt? They asked, but I couldn’t answer. My eyes stayed locked on James’s lifeless body, and one thought echoed in my mind. Catherine.
Where was my Catherine? Captain Ryan entered the room, quickly assessing the scene before walking over to me. Emily, are you injured? I shook my head. No.
But Catherine, he sent her away on a yacht. We need to find her. Now.
Ryan nodded. We heard the entire conversation. The operation’s already underway.
The Coast Guard and helicopters are searching for the yacht. We’ll find her. I promise.
You don’t understand, I said, my voice shaking. He told them to initiate plan B. I don’t know what that means, but it sounded dangerous. They could be taking her anywhere.
Then we need to move fast. And we are. But we need more details.
What do you know about the yacht, its name, description? I tried to focus, forcing myself to recall everything I knew about James’s boat. It’s called Ocean Star. White, about 80 feet long.
He kept it at the Breeze Yacht Club on the East Shore. Good, Ryan said, nodding. That helps.
We’ll get that to the Coast Guard right away. But now, you need to get out of here. The scene has to be secured for investigators.
I nodded slowly, my body moving on autopilot as I let them guide me out of the house, leaving behind the wreckage of the man I once knew. But my thoughts were far away, somewhere offshore, where my daughter was drifting into the unknown. He walked me outside, where police cars, an ambulance, and even a news van had already gathered.
Reporters pushed forward, trying to get closer, but a police barrier kept them back. I got into Ryan’s car, and we pulled away from the house. I felt hollow, terrified.
James was dead. Catherine was missing. My entire life was collapsing around me, and I had no idea how to piece it back together.
What happens now? I asked, staring out the window at the trees rushing by. We’re heading to the station. You’ll need to give an official statement.
Then we wait for news from the Coast Guard. They’ll find the yacht, Emily. They’ll find your daughter.
I nodded, unable to speak. I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe that I’d see Catherine soon.
But fear gripped my heart like ice. What if Plan B had already been set in motion? What if they’d taken her somewhere we’d never find? At the station, I answered the investigators’ questions on autopilot, signed documents, sipped the coffee they handed me. Everything was a blur.
I couldn’t think of anything but Catherine. Where was she? What was happening to her? Did she know her father was dead? A few hours later, Ryan walked into the interview room. One look at his face told me he had news.
Did they find her? I asked, jumping up. They found the yacht, he said. The Coast Guard located it 12 miles offshore.
But there was no one on board. What do you mean no one? Catherine was supposed to be there. And those men, Mike.
The boat was empty. No signs of your daughter or anyone else. Just a note.
What kind of note? Ryan pulled a plastic evidence bag from his pocket. Inside was a folded piece of paper. Our forensic team already processed it.
The fingerprints match a man named Michael Rivera, previously convicted for kidnapping and extortion. He was one of your husband’s bodyguards. He unfolded the note so I could read it through the plastic.
Plan B activated. Cargo transferred. Awaiting further instructions at point C. Cargo.
I repeated, the word hitting me like a punch. They’re calling my daughter cargo. It’s standard jargon in operations like these.
Cargo refers to the kidnapping target. Point C is likely a prearranged rendezvous point. Where is it? What is point C? We don’t know yet.
But we’re working on it. We’re combing through all of your husband’s contacts, his network, the places he frequented. If there’s a pattern, we’ll find it.
But it could take days. Maybe weeks. And what about Catherine in the meantime? What will they do to her? As long as she’s useful to them, they’ll keep her safe.
They’re waiting for orders from your husband, orders that will never come because he’s dead. That gives us the advantage. Time.
Or the opposite, I countered. When they realize James isn’t going to contact them, they might panic. They could do something reckless.
They could get rid of her. Ryan looked at me with deep concern. I understand your fear.
But these men are professionals. They won’t act on emotion. They’ll wait.
And we have one card they don’t know about. What card? Your husband’s phone. We can use it to reach out to the kidnappers, pretend James is still alive.
Set up a meeting for a money drop. And when they show up, we take them down. I hesitated.
The plan was risky, but it was a plan. And you really think they’ll believe it? That they won’t suspect anything? We’ll be careful. We’ll use messages only, no calls.
If they’ve seen news about your husband’s death, we’ll claim it was disinformation, something leaked to throw off law enforcement. It could work. And if it doesn’t? What if they get suspicious? Then we move to plan B. We continue tracking through other channels.
We’ll search every known safehouse, contact every known associate. Sooner or later, we’ll find them. Sooner or later, I repeated.
And what happens to Catherine in the meantime? Ryan didn’t answer. He had nothing comforting to say. We both knew time was our enemy.
The longer Catherine stayed in their hands, the slimmer the chances of getting her back safely. I want in on the operation, I said firmly. I want to know everything.
Every step, every decision. That’s against protocol. You’re a civilian, Anne.
She’s my daughter. And if you want my full cooperation, if you want my help in any way I can give it, you’ll keep me informed. Non-negotiable.
Ryan studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. All right. But you have to promise no interference in the operation.
No acting on your own. No contact with the kidnappers unless it goes through us. Understood? Yes.
I promise. Just then, there was a knock at the door and a young officer stepped inside. Captain, you’ve got a call.
They say it’s urgent. Ryan stepped out, leaving me alone in the office. I stared out the window at the city lights flickering to life, people hurrying home from work.
An ordinary evening for everyone but me. For me, this day had become a nightmare with no clear escape. He returned a few minutes later and the look on his face told me everything.
What is it? I asked, my heart beginning to pound. We got a tip from one of our informants. It seems your husband owed a large sum to a certain group of people.
The kind of people you don’t want to be in debt to. And they might be involved in Catherine’s abduction. What kind of people? An organized crime syndicate.
Specializing in racketeering and illegal gambling. According to what we know, your husband owed them around 5 million dollars, money he didn’t have. And they took Catherine as collateral until he paid it back.
Possibly. Or maybe she’s part of a different plan altogether. We’re still digging through the details.
I sank into the chair, feeling the strength drain from my body. 5 million. I don’t have anything close to that.
This isn’t about paying a ransom, Ryan said quickly. We don’t negotiate with criminals. We’ll find your daughter and bring her home.
No deals. But I heard the hesitation in his voice. He didn’t believe what he was saying, not completely.
If Catherine was really in the hands of an organized crime ring, every minute counted, and our odds were dwindling. What do I do? I asked, tears threatening to spill over. Tell me what I can do to bring my daughter back.
Ryan sat across from me, his expression grave. Help us find point C, think, was there a place that meant something to your husband? Somewhere significant. Maybe connected to the letter C. I closed my eyes and tried to focus.
A place tied to the letter C, Crystal Bay, where we used to walk sometimes. Cedar Park, the little garden James built in our backyard. Chanel, his favorite place to take me shopping.
And then it hit me. Cayuga Lake. We used to go there.
We had a summer house. James loved that place. He used to say it was the only place where he felt at peace.
When was the last time you were there? Not in the past few years. James said the house needed too many repairs, that it wasn’t worth keeping it up in such a remote spot. I thought maybe he even sold it.
But I’m not sure. Do you remember the address? Yes. Cedar Falls Village.
Pine Road. Number seven. It’s about an hour from the city.
Ryan immediately grabbed his phone and began issuing orders. I listened as he coordinated the operation, deploying the tactical team, requesting intel on the house and surrounding area. And I prayed.
Prayed that my hunch was right. That Catherine was there. That she was safe.
When he finished the call, he turned to me. We’re heading there now. The tactical unit will arrive in an hour.
They’ll surround the property, conduct reconnaissance, and if Catherine is inside, we’ll get her out. You’ll stay here, under guard. I’ll keep you updated.
No, I said firmly. I’m going with you. That’s not possible.
This is a police operation, not a family trip. It could be dangerous. I’m not asking to join the raid.
I just need to be nearby. I’ll wait in the car if I have to. But I need to be there when you find my daughter.
I need to see that she’s okay. Ryan looked like he wanted to argue, but after seeing my determination, he relented. Alright.
But you’ll remain at a safe distance, under protection. And you will not interfere with the operation. Promise me that.
I promise. We left 20 minutes later. I sat in the back seat of a police vehicle.
Ryan in the front beside the driver. Several unmarked cars followed behind us. The tactical team had already been dispatched ahead of us to prep the area.
The drive felt endless. Every minute stretched like an hour. I stared out the window at the darkening woods, wondering what lay ahead.
Would we find Catherine? Or would it be another dead end? Ryan stayed on the line with command the entire ride. Every now and then, he turned slightly to update me. The teams arrived.
They’re doing recon now. Gathering intel. Finally, we turned off the main road onto a narrow forest path.
A few kilometers in, we pulled into a clearing where several unmarked police vehicles were already parked. Wait here, Ryan said, stepping out of the car. He walked over to a group of officers huddled near one of the vehicles, leaning over something.
I realized it was a map. They were going over the plan. I sat frozen in the back seat, unable to take my eyes off them.
They pointed, nodded, moved their hands across the map. Then Ryan broke away and returned to me. The house is under surveillance, he said, sliding into the back seat beside me.
Our team saw movement inside. At least three men. Possibly a woman or a girl.
But we can’t confirm, it’s hard to tell, the windows are covered. It has to be Catherine, I said with rising hope. It has to be her.
We’re hopeful. The team is moving into position now. Once they’re ready, we’ll initiate.
How will it go down? We’ll attempt contact first. Give them a chance to surrender peacefully. If they don’t respond, we go in.
But we’ll proceed with extreme caution, there may be a hostage inside. I nodded, my heartbeat pounding in my chest. The minutes dragged by.
Ryan exchanged rapid updates through his radio, issuing short, calm commands. Then he turned to me. They’re ready.
It’s about to start. I held my breath, staring into the trees. The house wasn’t visible from our position.
Suddenly, a loud, amplified voice broke through the stillness of the night forest. This is the police. The house is surrounded.
Come out with your hands up. This is your only chance. Silence.
No reply. No movement. I repeat.
The house is surrounded. Come out with your hands up, or we will enter by force. Still nothing.
Ryan responded into his radio, listened, then turned to me. They’re not responding. We’re going in.
I nodded, unable to speak. The next moment, the silence of the night shattered, gunfire. One shot.
Then another. Then a rapid burst. Shouts, footsteps, more shots.
What’s happening? I asked, horrified. They’re resisting, Ryan said grimly. They opened fire on our team.
And Catherine? What about Catherine? I don’t know. We’re waiting for updates. The firefight lasted several more minutes before finally falling silent.
Ryan listened intently to his radio, his face tight with focus. The house is secure, he said at last. Two of them are down.
One’s been captured. They’re searching for any hostages. I held my breath.
Each second stretched endlessly. Then Ryan’s radio crackled to life. We found a girl inside, a voice reported.
Unconscious but alive. Seems to be under heavy sedation. Requesting medical assistance.
Is it her? I asked, tears welling in my eyes. Is it Catherine? We’ll confirm now, Ryan said into the radio. Description.
Female, around 18 or 19 years old. Blonde hair. Medium height.
Wearing jeans and a light blue blouse. No visible injuries. That’s her.
I cried. That’s Catherine. Is she okay? Looks like it, Ryan nodded.
Ambulance is on route. They’ll take her to the hospital to be checked out. I need to see her.
Right now. Of course. Come with me.
We got out of the car and hurried toward the house. On the way, we passed officers escorting a man in handcuffs, one of the kidnappers who had survived the raid. I gave him a sharp, hate-filled glance as I walked past.
The house was small, single-story, with a porch facing the lake. I remembered coming here on weekends with James, watching Catherine run along the shore collecting shells when she was little. It had been a place full of happy memories.
Now it was marked by tragedy. Inside, the place was a wreck. Furniture overturned, shattered glass on the floor, bullet holes in the walls.
In the living room, Catherine lay on a couch while a medic from the team checked her pulse and pupils. Catherine. I rushed to her, dropping to my knees beside the couch.
Her face was pale, but her breathing was steady. The medic stepped back to give me space. She’s okay, he said.
Just sedated. She’ll wake up soon. I stroked her hair, her cheeks, whispering her name.
Tears streamed down my face, but they were tears of relief. My daughter was alive. She was safe.
Ryan stood nearby, watching quietly, a look of deep satisfaction on his face. Ambulance will be here in 10 minutes. We’ll take you both to the hospital.
Thank you, I said without looking away from Catherine’s face. Thank you for everything. Just doing my job, he replied.
But it’s not over yet. We’ve still got to question the man we captured. Find out everything.
Who planned this? Who gave the orders? I know who was behind it, I said softly. My husband. The man I trusted for 20 years.
Ryan said nothing. He knew there were no words that could ease this kind of pain. The betrayal of someone you once trusted with your whole life.
It’s a wound that doesn’t heal quickly, if it ever does. A few minutes later, the ambulance arrived. The medics gently lifted Catherine onto a stretcher and loaded her into the vehicle.
I climbed in beside her, holding her hand. On the way to the hospital, she began to stir. Her eyelids fluttered, and slowly, she opened her eyes.
Mom. Her voice was weak, but to me, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. I’m here, sweetheart.
You’re safe now. Everything’s okay. What happened? Where’s dad? I froze, unsure how to respond.
How could I tell her her father was dead? That he had tried to use her as a pawn in his scheme. Later, I said gently, We’ll talk about everything later. Right now, you need to rest.
She nodded faintly and drifted back to sleep, still under the lingering effects of the sedative. At the hospital, Catherine was examined thoroughly. Blood tests, full checkup, every precaution.
The doctors reassured me she was fine, that the sedative had been strong but not harmful, and that she’d be fully awake in a few hours. I sat beside her bed, holding her hand, watching her sleep. My thoughts were racing.
What would I say when she woke up? How would I explain that her father was gone? That he had tried to kill me. That he had used her in his plan. Ryan stepped into the room around midnight.
He looked tired, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. How is she? He asked quietly, nodding toward the sleeping Catherine. The doctors say she’s okay.
She’ll be discharged tomorrow. That’s good news. I’ve got some news too.
We questioned the man we captured. He talked. What did he say? Your husband really did owe a large debt to an organized crime group.
They were threatening him. Pushing hard for repayment. At first, he planned to pay them off using the money from your life insurance.
When that plan failed, he moved to plan B, using Catherine as leverage to get you to sign over all your assets. But the creditors grew impatient. They wanted their money immediately.
So they took matters into their own hands. What do you mean? I looked at Ryan, confused. The men who held Catherine, they weren’t working for your husband.
