Chapter 4 - Nobody Said It Had to Be Yesterday
The next morning, Eli waited on their bench.
He had a paper cup of water between both hands.
Lightning leaned against the oak tree.
Bruno slept underneath it.
When Vincent approached, Eli jumped to his feet.
“Dad!”
Vincent stopped directly in front of him.
“There’s something we need to talk about.”
The boy’s smile disappeared instantly.
Vincent saw it happen.
Children who lost people learned to recognize goodbyes before adults spoke them.
“You’re leaving?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Vincent crouched.
“What if I stopped being your dad for one day?”
Eli’s face crumpled.
Vincent immediately took his hand.
“And became your dad forever?”
The child froze.
The city disappeared around them.
“Forever?”
“If you want me.”
Eli stared.
His eyes filled.
Then he threw both arms around Vincent’s neck so hard that Vincent nearly lost his balance.
“Yes!”
Vincent held him.
For once, he did not care who saw.
He did not notice the black sedan across the road.
He did not notice the camera.
He did not see the man in the passenger seat lower the lens and smile.
For twenty years Vincent’s enemies had searched for a weakness.
Money had failed.
Threats had failed.
Betrayal had failed.
Now they had found something better.
Someone Vincent loved.
Claire arrived an hour later.
Eli sat beside Vincent while she explained what would happen.
“You’re not being arrested,” she told him.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I know.”
“You’re not taking me away?”
Her eyes moved toward Vincent.
“We’re trying to find a safe place for you while the court figures things out.”
Eli grabbed Vincent’s sleeve.
“This is my safe place.”
Claire’s expression softened.
“I know.”
Vincent noticed those words.
Not I think.
Not maybe.
I know.
Temporary placement approval took two days.
They were the longest two days of Vincent’s adult life.
Inspections were scheduled.
Background checks began.
Claire interviewed him for nearly four hours.
“Why do you want to adopt Eli?”
“Because he needs a home.”
“Many children need homes.”
Vincent frowned.
“That’s a terrible argument.”
“It isn’t an argument. It’s a question.”
“He chose me.”
Claire watched him.
“And?”
“And I chose him.”
“Why?”
Vincent disliked questions without measurable answers.
He could explain investments.
He could explain property acquisitions.
He could explain why a company was worth forty million instead of thirty-five.
But this?
“He called me Dad.”
Claire waited.
Vincent looked toward the window.
“Nobody ever called me that before.”
“Is this about fixing your childhood?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
Vincent turned.
“My childhood cannot be fixed.”
Claire nodded slightly.
That answer apparently mattered.
“What happens when he disappoints you?”
“He’s six.”
“He’ll become seven. Then twelve. Then sixteen.”
“I’m aware of how aging works.”
Claire ignored the sarcasm.
“What happens when he lies?”
“We deal with it.”
“When he fails at school?”
“We deal with it.”
“When he tells you he hates you?”
Vincent’s expression changed.
Claire leaned back.
“Children aren’t grateful projects, Mr. Crowe. They don’t exist to repay adults for rescuing them.”
“I don’t want repayment.”
“What do you want?”
Vincent answered without hesitation.
“I want him to never save half a hamburger because he’s afraid he won’t eat tomorrow.”
Claire closed the folder.
For the first time, she smiled.
“That’s a better answer.”
The penthouse inspection was almost absurd.
Vincent’s home had twelve rooms, six bathrooms, a gym, indoor pool, private elevator, two kitchens, and no child-friendly furniture.
Claire walked through it silently.
Eli followed.
“This place is huge.”
Vincent nodded.
“You could ride Lightning in here.”
“No.”
“Just in the hallway?”
“No.”
“Slow?”
“No.”
Claire hid a smile.
They reached the bedroom Vincent had prepared.
Vincent had hired a designer.
The result looked like a luxury furniture showroom.
Perfect bed.
Perfect desk.
Perfect shelves.
Everything blue and gray.
Eli stood in the doorway.
Vincent watched him.
“You don’t like it.”
“It’s nice.”
“That means you don’t like it.”
Eli walked inside.
“There’s no stuff.”
Vincent looked around.
“There’s furniture.”
“Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
Eli shrugged.
“Kid stuff.”
Vincent looked at Claire.
She smiled.
“This is your problem.”
Vincent cancelled the designer.
That afternoon, he and Eli went shopping together.
Eli selected dinosaur bedding.
A lamp shaped like a rocket.
Three toy cars.
A baseball glove.
Two comic books.
A stuffed shark.
A ridiculous green beanbag chair.
And a poster of the solar system.
Vincent objected to the beanbag chair.
Eli won.
Bruno received a large dog bed.
Bruno ignored it and slept beside Eli’s bed instead.
For the first time, the penthouse contained noise.
Cabinet doors opened.
Small feet ran down hallways.
Cartoons played too loudly.
A bicycle helmet appeared on Vincent’s dining table.
Cereal boxes occupied a kitchen once designed for professional chefs.
Vincent’s life began changing in dozens of small ways.
He liked all of them.
Then the envelope arrived.
No stamp.
No return address.
It had been placed beneath his private office door.
Vincent opened it alone.
Inside was a photograph.
Him.
Eli.
The park bench.
On the back, a message.
EVERY WOLF HAS A THROAT.
Vincent stared at the words.
His pulse did not change.
But something inside him became colder than it had been in years.
Marcus entered ten minutes later.
Vincent handed him the photograph.
Marcus’s expression hardened.
“Where?”
“Under the door.”
“That floor is secured.”
“I know.”
Marcus turned toward the hallway.
“I’m locking down the building.”
“No panic.”
“This is a threat against a child.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?”
Vincent’s eyes lifted.
Marcus immediately regretted the question.
Vincent had understood nothing else since seeing the photograph.
“Find who brought it.”
Marcus nodded.
“What do we tell Eli?”
“Nothing.”
“Vincent—”
“He has had enough fear.”
Marcus studied him.
“You can’t hide danger forever.”
“I only need to hide it until I eliminate it.”
“That sentence is exactly what Daniel is worried about.”
Vincent folded the photograph.
“Daniel isn’t here.”
A small voice came from the doorway.
“Dad?”
Both men turned.
Eli stood holding the stuffed shark.
Vincent’s face changed immediately.
“What are you doing awake?”
“I heard talking.”
“It’s nothing.”
Eli looked from Vincent to Marcus.
“Adults say ‘nothing’ when it’s something.”
Marcus almost laughed despite himself.
Vincent crouched.
“Go back to bed.”
Eli hesitated.
“Are you mad?”
“No.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
The question hurt.
Vincent touched his shoulder.
“I promise.”
Eli nodded and walked away.
Vincent waited until the bedroom door closed.
Then he looked at Marcus.
“Double security.”
“You said no panic.”
“I changed my mind.”
Marcus pulled out his phone.
Vincent opened the photograph again.
He recognized the style.
Not the handwriting.
Not the paper.
The message.
Every Wolf has a throat.
He had heard something similar years ago from one man.
Victor Soren.
Once a partner.
Later an enemy.
A man who blamed Vincent for everything he had lost.
Victor had disappeared from the city three years earlier.
Vincent had assumed he was gone.
Now he wondered whether he had simply been waiting.
Marcus returned.
“You’re thinking of someone.”
“Victor.”
Marcus went still.
“He’s overseas.”
“So we thought.”
“I’ll verify.”
“Do it quietly.”
Marcus moved toward the door.
Vincent stopped him.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“If Victor is back—”
“I know.”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“You don’t.”
Marcus turned.
Vincent looked toward Eli’s room.
“For the first time in my life, I have something I cannot replace.”
His eyes became colder.
“If anyone comes near that boy, I want to know before they take a second step.”
Marcus nodded.
That night Vincent sat outside Eli’s bedroom.
The boy slept peacefully.
Bruno lay across the doorway.
Vincent did not sleep.
At 3:12 a.m., Marcus sent a message.
Victor Soren entered the country nine days ago.
A second message arrived.
We found the black sedan.
Then a third.
It belongs to a company controlled by him.
Vincent stared at the phone.
The Wolf had spent twenty years building an empire.
Now someone had returned to test whether he would destroy it for a six-year-old boy.
Vincent already knew the answer.
May you like
He simply hoped Eli would never have to learn how far a father might go.
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