Chapter 2: Who Are You, Anyway?

Riley pulled the door handle three times.

Nothing.

She tried the other side.

Still nothing.

“This is definitely kidnapping.”

The huge man sitting across from her didn’t answer.

He was the same guy who had confirmed her name back in the alley. Same sunglasses. Same black suit. The car was spacious, but somehow, with him sitting there, it felt a whole lot smaller.

“Hey.”

“...”

“You can hear me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then answer me.”

“You haven’t asked a question.”

“You are exhausting.”

Riley dropped back against the seat.

Soft.

Annoyingly soft.

She had never been inside a car like this. There was enough legroom to stretch out, the seats felt like expensive furniture, and almost none of the noise from outside made it through the windows.

She’d always imagined kidnapping vehicles would be a lot less comfortable.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

“Whose orders are you following?”

“You’ll find that out too.”

“Why?”

“Same answer.”

“Do you actually know how conversations work?”

“I’m answering everything you need to know.”

“I keep asking because you’re not!”

The man remained completely unfazed.

Riley clicked her tongue and looked down.

She still had the black leather bag.

After all that struggling, kicking, and being shoved into a car, she had somehow managed to hold on to it.

Riley lifted it.

“This?”

His gaze shifted to the bag.

“What about it?”

“Is this what you’re after?”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“You don’t?!”

“We have nothing to do with the bag.”

Riley froze.

“...Then whose bag did we steal?”

“Don’t ask me.”

“Fair.”

So these guys hadn’t been sent by the owner.

Riley couldn’t decide whether that was reassuring or much, much worse.

“What’s your name?”

“Marcus Hale.”

“Marcus.”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

“Security.”

“See! I knew you were some kind of shady guy!”

Marcus tilted his head slightly.

“How does that follow?”

“Do security guys normally grab girls by both arms and shove them into cars?”

“You resisted.”

“You surrounded me first!”

Marcus said nothing.

Somehow, the silence made Riley even more annoyed.

“I’m calling the cops.”

“Go ahead.”

“...You’re okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you kidnapped me?”

“This is not a kidnapping.”

“You forced me into a car without my consent.”

“I came to pick you up.”

“You are really committed to that excuse!”

Riley patted her pockets.

No phone.

“Oh.”

Maybe she’d dropped it while they were running.

Marcus glanced at her.

“What?”

“My phone’s gone.”

“I see.”

“Give me yours.”

“When we arrive.”

“See? Kidnapping!”

The car left the main roads behind and carried Riley into a part of town she didn’t recognize.

The older buildings thinned out.

Then the stores.

The streets grew wider, the trees taller, and the houses along the road steadily larger.

Actually, calling them houses felt wrong.

They were mansions.

“...Where are we?”

Riley leaned toward the window.

Huge lawns.

Massive gates.

Driveways big enough to park half a dozen cars.

It looked like something she’d only ever seen in movies.

“Do all rich people live like this?”

“Not all of them.”

“You?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Marcus looked at her.

“Why is that good?”

“Because if I got kidnapped by someone who lived in one of these places, they’d probably have enough money to find me every time I escaped.”

Marcus said nothing.

A moment later, the car made a long turn.

A tall iron fence came into view.

Beyond it stood an enormous gate.

There were actual security guards stationed outside.

As the car approached, the gates slowly swung open.

“...Whoa.”

Riley pressed herself against the window.

A long private drive stretched beyond the gates, lined on both sides by manicured lawns and carefully planted trees.

And far in the distance stood a massive white-stone building.

“Wait.”

Riley turned to Marcus.

“Is that a hotel?”

“No.”

“A school?”

“No.”

“A museum?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“A house.”

Riley looked out the window again.

Then back at Marcus.

“Whose?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

“You’re banned from saying that now.”

The car continued toward the mansion without mercy.

Several people who looked suspiciously like actual household staff were lined up near the entrance.

“...What is this?”

For the first time, Riley’s voice came out a little quieter.

The car stopped.

Marcus got out first, walked around, and opened Riley’s door.

“After you.”

“If I promise I won’t run away, will you take me home?”

“You don’t need to make that promise.”

“So you’ll take me home?”

“That isn’t my decision.”

“So I can’t go home!”

With no better option, Riley climbed out.

She stared up at the mansion.

It was so big she almost hurt her neck looking at it.

“Cleaning this place must take all day.”

“There are people for that.”

“Rich people are the worst.”

Marcus started toward the entrance.

Riley reluctantly followed.

Then she remembered something and stopped.

“Marcus.”

He turned.

“What?”

“Hold this.”

She held out the black bag.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to walk into a stranger’s house carrying stolen property.”

Marcus looked at the bag.

Then at Riley.

“It’s stolen?”

“Now you’re surprised?!”

After a few seconds, Marcus took it.

“You’ll explain that to the police yourself.”

“Come on, help me out a little!”

The enormous front doors opened.

Riley stepped inside—and stopped dead.

The ceiling soared overhead.

A massive chandelier glittered above them.

A broad staircase swept up to the second floor.

The floor was polished so perfectly she could almost see her reflection in it.

“...Do I take my shoes off?”

“No.”

“Good. One of my socks has a hole in it.”

For the first time, Marcus went unusually quiet.

Riley narrowed her eyes.

“Did you just judge me?”

“No.”

“You absolutely judged me.”

Footsteps sounded from deeper inside the mansion.

Riley looked up.

An elderly man with silver-white hair was walking slowly toward her.

His suit looked expensive enough to pay her rent for a year. He stood straight, carrying himself with the kind of quiet authority that made his age almost irrelevant.

But the expression on his face when he looked at Riley was something else entirely.

Shock.

Joy.

And something painfully close to tears.

The old man stopped a few steps away.

“...Riley.”

Hearing her name, Riley frowned.

“Who are you?”

For a moment, the man didn’t answer.

Then he let out a quiet breath.

“Charles Whitmore.”

“Never heard of you.”

“No. I don’t suppose you have.”

He gave her a small, gentle smile.

“I’m your grandfather.”