Chapter 7 - Isabelle’s Move
The sun rose over Philadelphia like a smear of dirty copper.
Down in the subterranean garage of Calder Tower, four armored SUVs sat with their diesel engines idling, their exhaust hanging in the cool, subterranean air. Ten men in nondescript tactical gear checked sidearms, adjusted encrypted ear-pieces, and secured bulletproof doors.
Mason had been gone since three in the morning.
I stood beside the center SUV, holding Mia’s hand while Leo and Ben sat on the lowered tailgate, kicking their little sneakers against the bumper. The children thought this was an adventure. Mia was wearing her favorite yellow raincoat over her pajamas, clutching a plush rabbit Mason had magically produced from one of the penthouse guest rooms before he left for the docks.
“Mama,” Leo asked, pointing his juice box at the armed men loading heavy black duffel bags into the lead vehicle. “Are we going on a camping trip?”
“Something like that, sweetie,” I lied, forcing a smile that felt like cracked glass across my face. “We’re going to a very big house in the country with a huge yard. You’ll have room to run.”
“Will Daddy be there?” Ben asked quietly from his spot beside Leo.
My heart pinched. In less than twenty-four hours, my quietest child had already learned to look for his father in every room.
“Daddy has to finish some work in the city,” I told him, smoothing down his unruly dark curls. “He’s going to meet us there tonight.”
The heavy concrete security gate at the entrance of the garage groaned as it slid open.
A sleek silver Porsche Cayenne swept down the ramp, tires squealing against the polished epoxy floor. It didn't stop in the visitor parking. It accelerated directly toward our convoy, braking hard three yards from the lead SUV, its front bumper almost kissing the bull-bar of our tactical vehicle.
Instantly, three of Mason’s guards drew their weapons, taking tactical positions behind the open doors of the Suburbans.
“Hold your fire!” a guard shouted, raising his hand. “Hold!”
The driver’s side door of the Porsche opened.
A woman stepped out.
She wasn't wearing white satin anymore. Isabelle Cross was dressed in a tailored cream trench coat, dark sunglasses, and black stiletto boots that clicked sharply against the concrete. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a severe, elegant chignon, but her face—even beneath expensive foundation—was pale, strained, and hollowed out by humiliation.
She took off her sunglasses, ignoring the rifles pointed directly at her chest, and fixed her eyes on me.
“Tell your attack dogs to stand down, Nora,” Isabelle said, her voice dripping with dry ice. “I came alone.”
The captain of Mason’s security detail, a scarred man named Briggs, stepped forward, his sidearm lowered but ready. “Miss Cross, you are trespassing on Calder private property. Turn around and leave before I have you detained.”
“I’m not here to see Calder,” Isabelle replied, never looking away from me. “I’m here to speak to the woman who stole my wedding.”
My protective instincts flared like kerosene on an open flame. I immediately stepped in front of Leo and Ben, shielding them with my body, while pulling Mia behind my legs.
“Briggs,” I said, keeping my voice remarkably steady. “Take the children into the vehicle.”
“Ma’am, Mason’s orders were explicit—”
“Take them inside the vehicle, Briggs,” I repeated, turning my head to look the security chief dead in the eye. “Now.”
Briggs hesitated for half a second before nodding. He scooped Ben and Leo into the back seat of the reinforced Suburban, while a female guard gently guided Mia inside and clicked the child-safety locks shut. The heavily tinted, ballistic glass rolled up, isolating our babies from the conversation.
I turned back to Isabelle, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to look intimidated by the heiress whose life I had accidentally detonated.
“You have sixty seconds, Isabelle,” I said coldly. “Then Briggs puts you back in your car.”
Isabelle took three slow steps forward, stopping five feet from me. Up close, I could see the dark circles beneath her eyes and the tremor in her manicured hands.
“Do you think you’ve won?” Isabelle asked, her voice hushed, venomous, and trembling with rage. “Do you think because Mason took your bastards into his arms, you’re going to step into the Cross family’s shoes and become the queen of this city?”
“I don't care about this city,” I fired back. “And if you call my children bastards again, you’ll find out very quickly that I grew up in South Philly, not a country club.”
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped Isabelle’s lips.
“You’re an idiot, Nora. You’re an absolute, naive idiot.” Isabelle reached into her coat pocket, causing Briggs to tense, but she only pulled out a slim, gold cigarette case and a lighter. She didn't light it. She just held it like a talisman. “You think Henry Calder was the one who pulled the strings three years ago? You think he was the mastermind?”
My stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”
“Henry didn't come up with the plan to buy you off,” Isabelle said, leaning in, her blue eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. “My father did.”
The concrete floor seemed to tilt beneath my boots.
“Your father?” I whispered.
“Three years ago, my father realized that Mason was never going to marry me voluntarily,” Isabelle sneered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. “Mason made it abundantly clear that he was going to marry his little hospital nurse and turn his back on the political alliances that kept our families in power. So my father went to Henry. My father told Henry that if Mason didn't secure the Cross rail merger, the Cross family would orchestrate a full-scale corporate and literal war using the Blackwells as our proxies.”
The air turned to ice in my lungs.
“Your family controls the Blackwells?” I gasped.
“We owned them,” Isabelle said smoothly. “They were our muscle. We fed them Calder shipping schedules. We gave them access to Calder warehouses. My father told Henry: *‘Get rid of the girl, or we let the Blackwells loose on Mason’s logistics lines until the Calder name is bankrupt.’* Henry was an old coward who took the bait. He paid you eighty million of our laundered capital to make you disappear, thinking he was saving his son.”
Every puzzle piece I had tried to assemble over the last twenty-four hours suddenly snapped into place with terrifying, horrific clarity.
Henry Calder hadn't been an evil mastermind. He had been an arrogant, cornered pawn who thought he could buy his way out of an ambush by sacrificing me.
“And now?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the hum of the idling engines. “Why are you telling me this?”
Isabelle’s smirk vanished, replaced by an expression of cold, terrifying finality.
“Because last night, Mason’s father ran straight to my father’s estate in Gladwyne,” Isabelle said. “Henry realized he has lost Calder Holdings. He knows Mason has the board. So Henry and my father just signed an agreement with the Blackwell leadership. They aren't trying to force a marriage anymore, Nora. They are executing a hostile takeover of the entire waterfront.”
She took half a step closer, her breath smelling of expensive mints and pure poison.
“My brother didn't just breach the Camden terminal last night to burn cargo,” Isabelle whispered. “He did it to draw Mason out. Mason is at the docks right now with twenty men, thinking he’s securing a crime scene. But the terminal is surrounded. By nine this morning, Mason Calder will either sign over his voting shares to his father, or he will be coming home in a pine box.”
My heart stopped.
I looked at the tinted window of the Suburban, where Leo’s little face was pressed against the glass, waving a tiny plastic dinosaur at me.
“Why are you telling me this, Isabelle?” I demanded, grabbing the lapel of her trench coat, ignoring Briggs who took an alarmed step forward. “If your family is going to kill him, why the hell did you drive down here to tell his children’s mother?”
Isabelle looked down at my hand on her coat. She didn't pull away.
For a fraction of a second, the mask of the aristocratic heiress slipped, revealing a woman who was terrified of the monsters she lived with.
“Because I wanted to marry Mason Calder,” Isabelle whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I wanted his name. I wanted his power. But my father and my brother... they are butchers, Nora. If they kill Mason, they won't stop with him. They will hunt down those three children to eliminate any legal claim to the Calder trust. I came here to tell you to take that SUV, drive through the gates, and don't stop until you cross the Canadian border.”
She pulled herself out of my grip, stepping back toward her Porsche.
May you like
“You have two hours before the Camden terminal goes dark,” Isabelle said, opening her car door. “If you stay in Philadelphia, your babies will be orphans by noon.”
***
