Chapter 2 - The Shelter Had My Son's Footprints—And Someone Inside Had Been Waiting For Me
We reached St. Gabriel's in less than twenty minutes.
The rain had become heavier.
Emily sat beside me in the back seat, clutching the photograph of Lucas against her chest.
The shelter was an old brick building squeezed between a church and a vacant warehouse.
A faded sign hung above the entrance.
ST. GABRIEL'S FAMILY CENTER.
Marcus checked the surroundings before we entered.
I didn't need to tell him to be careful.
Every man who worked for me knew one rule:
When Sebastian Ross stopped trusting the world, nobody moved without checking twice.
The receptionist looked nervous when she saw us.
“We're closed.”
“I'm looking for a boy.”
“What boy?”
“Lucas Ross.”
Her face changed.
I saw it.
Recognition.
Not surprise.
Fear.
“What do you know?”
“I don't know anyone by that name.”
Emily stepped out from behind me.
The receptionist went pale.
“You.”
Emily lowered her head.
“You know her?”
The receptionist swallowed.
“No.”
I slammed my palm onto the desk.
“Stop lying.”
Marcus stepped forward.
The receptionist started crying.
“He's not here.”
“Where is he?”
“He was moved.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“By whom?”
“A woman came with documents.”
“What woman's name?”
“I don't know.”
“You signed him out?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
She hesitated.
“Mr. Calder.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Who's Calder?”
“The shelter director.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at Emily.
She was staring at a hallway.
“What's there?”
She pointed.
“His room.”
We entered.
The room was small.
A desk.
A filing cabinet.
A children's drawing taped to the wall.
It showed a house.
Three stick figures.
A father.
A boy.
And a little girl.
Underneath, someone had written:
WE WILL GO HOME.
Lucas's handwriting.
I touched the drawing.
Then I noticed the desk.
A file was open.
Lucas Ross.
Age: 8.
Medical notes.
No serious conditions.
Emergency contact: Rachel Ross.
Underneath was another name.
Sebastian Ross.
My full information.
My address.
My private phone number.
My location history.
Someone had accessed records only my security team should have been able to access.
Then Emily whispered:
“That drawer.”
She pointed to the bottom cabinet.
I opened it.
Inside was a metal key.
And a cassette recorder.
Old-fashioned.
I pressed play.
Static.
Then a boy's voice.
My son's voice.
“Dad, if you're hearing this, I don't know where I'm going.”
I closed my eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
The recording continued.
“Mom says you're dangerous. But Emily says dangerous people don't cry in the rain.”
A broken laugh escaped me.
Then Lucas whispered:
“I don't know who to trust.”
The recording clicked.
“There's a man who comes every Friday.”
“His name is Mr. Calder.”
“He gives Mom money.”
“Mom said it was because she was protecting me.”
“Dad, if you find me, don't trust the people who say they’re helping.”
The recording ended.
No goodbye.
No final word.
Just static.
I stood there unable to move.
Emily came beside me.
“He was scared.”
“Did he tell you why?”
She nodded.
“He said a man wanted him to disappear.”
“Which man?”
“He called him Uncle.”
I looked at her.
“Did you ever see him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall.”
“Hair?”
“Gray.”
“Anything else?”
“He had a ring.”
“What kind?”
“Black stone.”
I knew that ring.
It belonged to someone I trusted.
My attorney.
Daniel Mercer.
He had represented me for fourteen years.
He had handled Lucas's custody case.
He had been one of the last people to speak to Rachel before she vanished.
I called him.
He answered immediately.
“Sebastian?”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Don't move.”
“What happened?”
“Did you ever visit St. Gabriel's?”
Silence.
“Daniel?”
“I can explain.”
My blood turned to ice.
Marcus saw my expression.
“Boss?”
Daniel finally spoke.
“You don't understand what happened.”
“Then start explaining.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because they listen.”
“Who?”
“The people who took your son.”
The call ended.
I looked at Emily.
She whispered:
“He was there.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
My pulse raced.
“Did Daniel hurt Lucas?”
“No.”
“Did he take him?”
She shook her head.
“He gave him something.”
“What?”
“A key.”
“To what?”
Emily looked at the floor.
“I don't know.”
We searched the shelter.
Behind a loose floorboard, we found a second envelope.
Inside was a photograph of Rachel.
She looked thinner than I remembered.
In the photo, she stood beside a man.
Daniel Mercer.
On the back, one sentence:
He knows where Lucas is.
I felt something inside me crack.
Fourteen years of trust.
Gone.
I called Marcus.
“Find Daniel.”
He nodded.
“Alive?”
“For now.”
We returned to the apartment.
Emily fell asleep on the couch.
I sat beside her, staring out at the city.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Sebastian.”
A distorted voice.
“You have the girl.”
My entire body stiffened.
“Who is this?”
“You should be more careful with your son’s friends.”
“Where is Lucas?”
A soft laugh.
“Closer than you think.”
“Bring him to me.”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
“The ledger.”
I froze.
“What ledger?”
“The one your brother stole.”
I hadn't heard that word in years.
My brother.
Ethan.
Dead for twelve years.
Or so everyone believed.
“You're lying.”
“Am I?”
The caller continued.
“You've been searching for the wrong person.”
“Who took Lucas?”
“You did.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Emily woke.
She looked at me.
“Was that him?”
“Who?”
“The bad man.”
I nodded.
She got up.
“Then we have to leave.”
“Why?”
“He knows where you are.”
I looked toward the window.
A red laser dot appeared briefly on the opposite wall.
Then vanished.
“Down!”
I pulled Emily to the floor.
A bullet shattered the glass.
Marcus shouted from the hallway.
Security rushed in.
Another bullet struck the wall.
Then silence.
I crawled toward the window.
On the street below, a black SUV sped away.
Inside the apartment, Emily was shaking.
I pulled her close.
“You're safe.”
She whispered:
“No, Mister.”
May you like
“What?”
“They're coming for you.”
Related Stories
