24

The clock in the foyer struck midnight, the heavy tolls echoing through the empty halls like a funeral march. Richard didn’t go to bed. He went to his study, slamming the door behind him. He needed action, not rest. The image of Giselle’s packed bags was burned into his retinas, a silent accusation that he had let the only thing that made him feel alive slip through his fingers.

He snatched the desk phone and punched in a direct line he hadn't used in months.

"This is Chief Miller," a gruff voice answered on the second ring. "Richard? It’s late. Is everything alright?"

"I’m sorry this is such an awkward time to call. My daughter-in-law is missing, Miller," Richard said, his voice clipped and cold. "Giselle Hemingway. She left the estate in the morning. Her phone is off. I need a trace on her last location and a BOLO out on her vehicle immediately."

There was a long, hesitant pause on the other end. "Richard... I understand the concern, but there’s a procedure. She’s an adult. Unless there’s evidence of foul play or a kidnapping, we can’t bypass standard protocol. We have to wait forty-eight hours before we can officially file a missing person report and start searching."

Richard’s grip on the receiver tightened until his knuckles turned white. "Forty-eight hours? In forty-eight hours, she could be in another country. She could be in a ditch. I’m not asking for a favor, Miller, I’m telling you to find her."

"I can't authorize a city-wide search over a domestic dispute, Richard. If she hasn't made contact by the morning after tomorrow, I will personally kickstart the process and put my best men on it. But for now, my hands are tied."

"Your hands aren't tied, they’re useless!" Richard roared, slamming the phone back onto the cradle. "Useless!"

He paced the length of the rug, his chest heaving. The police were a dead end. They played by rules that didn't apply to a man of his stature. If he wanted her found, he had to go outside the law. He pulled his personal cell from his pocket and scrolled to a contact listed simply as V.

"Hemingway," the voice on the other end was smooth, awake, and alert. "You don't call this late for a casual chat."

"Glad you know. I need a locate, Victor," Richard said, skipping the pleasantries. "My daughter-in-law, Giselle. She’s gone missing. I’m sending you her phone number now. I want her last ping, her last known tower connection, and any credit card activity in the last six hours."

"Got the number," Victor said, the sound of rapid typing clicking in the background. "Giselle Hemingway. Give me a starting point. Any names? Friends? Family she actually likes?"

"She has a friend named Serayah," Richard said, his mind flashing back to Chase’s dismissive comments. "Chase doesn't know her last name or address, but she’s the only lead we have. Look for a Serayah within a fifty-mile radius of the city who has any link to Giselle Monroe—that’s her maiden name."

"Serayah. Unusual enough to be easy," Victor muttered. "I’m on it. What’s the urgency, Richard? Is she in danger?"

"She’s a Hemingway," Richard said, his voice dropping into a dark, possessive tone. "That makes her a target. And if she’s out there alone, she’s in danger from everything. How long do I wait for a feedback? Oh please don’t keep me waiting for too long"

"By morning, I’ll have a neighborhood check. By noon, I’ll have a door number at least, these things take time"

"Make it faster," Richard commanded. "I don't care about the cost. Burn the servers if you have to. Just find her."

"I’ll call you the second the map populates. Go get some sleep, Richard."

"I’ll sleep when she’s back under my roof. Call me."

Richard hung up and threw the phone onto the leather sofa. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the dark expanse of the Hemingway grounds. The wind whipped the trees, casting skeletal shadows across the lawn.

"Where the hell are you, Giselle?" he whispered, his breath fogging the glass. "What are you running from? Me? Or the fact that you want to leave Chase? I’m so confused right now"

He spent the rest of the night in that chair, watching the clock. Every minute felt like an hour. He thought about the way she had looked in the kitchen, her eyes wide and wet with tears after Chase had insulted her. He thought about the way her skin felt under his thumb in the garden. He was a man who prided himself on logic, yet here he was, losing his mind over a woman he should be calling 'daughter.' He felt so sorry for her.

At 6:45 AM, his phone buzzed. He snatched it before the first ring finished.

"Talk to me," Richard snapped.

"I have her," Victor said. "Her phone was turned off at 8:14 PM last night. The last ping was a tower in the Heights. Specifically, a residential block on Oakhaven Drive. I cross-referenced the address. A Serayah Williams lives in Apartment 4B. The utilities are in her name, but she’s been Giselle’s emergency contact on her medical records for five years."

Richard’s heart gave a violent thud. "Oakhaven Drive. The Heights."

"That’s the one. No car activity—Giselle likely took a car service. I’m checking Uber and Lyft records now to confirm the drop-off."

"Don't bother," Richard said, already grabbing his car keys and his coat. "The tower ping is enough. Send me the exact coordinates."

"Richard, wait. If you go there now, you’re going to cause a scene. It’s about seven in the morning."

"I don't care if it's four in the morning," Richard growled, stepping out of his study and heading for the garage. "She’s my responsibility. And I’m going to bring her home."

"Your son’s wife, Richard," Victor reminded him gently. "What is he doing about it?."

Richard didn't answer. He ended the call and stepped into the garage, the roar of his Bentley’s engine echoing off the concrete walls. He didn't call a driver. He didn't call Chase. He backed out of the driveway, the tires screaming as he sped toward the city.

He wasn't thinking about Chase. He wasn't thinking about the merger or the press. All he could think about was the look on Giselle’s face when she realized that he was not going to touch her or make love to her the way she wanted. He was still trying to process everything, but her sudden disappearance had troubled him so much, he felt he had committed a terrible crime for turning her down.

"You can't hide from me, Giselle," he muttered, his jaw set as he swerved onto the highway. "We aren't finished yet."