I led Oliver to the pantry, opened a concealed panel behind the shelves, and revealed a small reinforced room.
“Go inside,” I told him. “Lock it. Do not open for anyone except me. Not even the police.”
He nodded, trembling, and I heard the lock click behind him.
The sound of tires crunching gravel came right on schedule.
I looked through the blinds: a black SUV and two police cruisers.
Derek stepped out first, soaked from the rain, holding a baseball bat.
Of course he brought authority with him—men who owed him favors.
The intercom buzzed.
“I know he’s in there,” Derek’s voice came through. “Open the door.”
“And a warrant at this hour?” I replied calmly.
A second voice—tired uneasy—called out, “Ma’am, we have a report of kidnapping. Please cooperate.”
“Or what?” I asked.
Derek cut in, his tone venomous.
“Or I come in, take my son, and make sure you regret ever interfering.”
I switched off the intercom, sat in the center of the living room, draped a blanket over my lap, and hid the weapon beneath it.
“Alright,” I murmured. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”
They didn’t wait long.
Glass shattered, the door broke open, and boots stormed inside.
Flashlights cut through the darkness.
“Police!” Derek followed, wild-eyed, gripping the bat.
They saw me sitting there—still silent.
“Ma’am, stand up. Show your hands,” one officer ordered.
I didn’t move.
“Where is he?” Derek demanded, stepping closer.
“Safe,” I said.
He swung the bat into a lamp, smashing it apart.
I didn’t flinch.
