Chapter 24: Daddy’s Dirty Little Secret: Chapter 24

The room they put me in was nicer than most hotel suites I’d stayed in. That was the strangest part. Nothing about it felt like a prison, except for the locked door.

From where I sat—on a cream-colored bench at the foot of the bed—I could see nearly every polished surface in the room reflecting light like it had been cleaned twice this morning. The windows weren’t barred. They looked out over a neat backyard with desert landscaping, all tan stone and low shrubs that looked expensive to maintain. Beyond the fence was another house, and another after that, all stacked up like dollhouses in a quiet cul-de-sac.

We were in Vegas. I never saw a sign or a street name, but I recognized the mountains and desert when we stepped out of the helicopter. Warm, dry, and heavy with dust. They hadn’t blindfolded me or tied me down, though they did keep the restraints on my hands. Thankfully, they took the gag out of my mouth when I started dry heaving again.

One of them—always in a navy polo and slacks—came in earlier to drop off a tray with food. Bottled water, a sandwich, a few grapes. Like this was some strange spa retreat instead of a hostage situation. I stayed on the far side of the room when he entered and almost cried.

“As long as your father pays up, you’ll be out of here in no time,” he said, as if that was supposed to help.

I didn’t respond. I just sat there with my hands folded in my lap, nodding like I agreed. He closed the door behind himself gently. It clicked when it locked, even though it didn’t need to.

I hadn’t touched the food.

They told me not to worry. That I’d be home soon. But they didn’t know my father. Not the version I’d seen lately—the one barely keeping the lights on, pretending the walls weren’t closing in. He had no money to pay up, and though I assumed he’d go straight to Xander, I knew that was a long shot too. Xander didn’t care about me. He’d said as much the last time we spoke.

I looked out the window again. There were kids riding scooters a couple of houses down. A man hosing off his driveway. The world looked completely normal from here.

I stayed by the window most of the day, leaning my elbow on the sill, watching the ordinary lives unfolding just outside this strange bubble I had landed in. Somewhere beyond those tan walls and trimmed hedges, people were going to work, picking up groceries, making dinner plans. I was here. Waiting.

They weren’t rough with me. No one raised their voice. No one made threats. They offered food, clean sheets, privacy. But it wasn’t kindness. It was calculation. Like they wanted me calm so I wouldn’t make their job harder. They never called me by name. Just “her” or “the girl.” And the only thing they repeated was that it would all be over as soon as my dad “handled things.”

I hadn’t asked what that meant, not directly. I already knew. That number—the six figures I saw in his ledger—it wasn’t going to vanish.

The door opened again midafternoon, but this time, it wasn’t the man in the navy polo. It was Victor Hayes. He wore a tailored suit. Crisp white shirt, pale gray jacket, silver cuff links. Not flashy, just confident. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly cut, and he didn’t carry a phone or a file. Just walked in with both hands in his pockets and stopped a few feet from the center of the room.

“Miss Johnson,” he said. “I hope you’ve been treated respectfully.”

I stood up without meaning to. “You must be Hayes.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re sharper than your father.” I didn’t answer. He nodded toward the chair by the desk. “Would you mind sitting? I’d like to explain a few things.”

I didn’t want to, but I also didn’t want to be standing in the middle of the room while this man towered over me. I sat carefully, crossing my arms over my stomach out of habit more than anything else.

“I imagine this situation has been … unsettling,” Hayes said, pacing a little but never turning his back to me. “I don’t make a habit of involving family in business matters, but your father has left me with very few options.”

“You’re threatening his daughter,” I said. “That feels personal.”

He nodded as if I’d only just caught up. “It is now.”

There was nothing hostile in his voice. No raised tone, no hard edge. It was a plain statement, spoken with the same rhythm someone might use when confirming the day of the week. That only made it harder to grasp. I wondered if he had children of his own, if they were in this house somewhere.

“You’re here because I gave your father every chance to make this right,” he continued, walking with slow, deliberate steps. “And he didn’t. He took money—large amounts—on the promise of future earnings. Those earnings never came.”

“He sold the company,” I said. “Didn’t that cover any of it?”

Hayes gave a dry laugh under his breath. “Your father was smart enough to structure the sale so it paid him upfront. What he failed to do was prioritize what he owed. That money was spent before the ink dried. Half a million dollars is not the sort of debt a person just walks away from.”

“He doesn’t have it,” I said, holding his gaze.

“That’s not my concern,” he replied, calm as ever. He paused, turning his cold stare on me. To him this was just business, even dragging me into this.

“He can’t give you what he doesn’t have,” I added, unsure why I was still trying to explain something that had probably been said a hundred times already.

His eyes narrowed further, making me swallow hard against a lump in my throat. “If I go easy on him, the next person I lend to will expect the same. And the next one after that. Generosity becomes softness in this business, and softness becomes failure. That’s not how I operate.”

It was hard to argue with the logic. His tone was too steady, his message too clean. I didn’t like it, but I understood it. The man was protecting his reputation, not venting anger. This wasn’t about rage. It was about rules. Anyone else would file a lawsuit, but in the end they would lose. The debtor would file bankruptcy.

Hayes tilted his head slightly. “You’re not dumb. I’m sure you’re sitting there wondering if there’s another way out of this. Some other solution you just haven’t considered yet.”

“There isn’t,” I said, though it came out quieter than I intended.

He raised one eyebrow, like he didn’t believe me. “There’s always a way when someone’s desperate enough. People mortgage their homes, call in favors, make promises they never imagined making. Resources come out of nowhere when enough pressure is applied.”

I said nothing, and neither did he for a moment. Then his gaze narrowed, not in anger, but in the way someone watches for a reaction they expect to find. “Your father’s not the only one with ties. There’s that CEO … Blackwell. You think he might be inclined to help? Maybe cut a check for an old friend?”

I kept my expression still.

“Your father used to brag about that partnership. Said Blackwell had a gift for building things. That he owed everything to the opportunity that came from that first sale.”

“Xander doesn’t owe us anything,” I said. “He already bought the company. He moved on.”

Hayes nodded slowly, like that answer fit whatever theory he already had. “But you know him. That’s not a question. What I’m asking is whether he’d come through.”

I glanced toward the window, giving myself something else to focus on. My heart started pounding harder, palms growing sweaty. This couldn’t be happening.

Hayes didn’t push the point. “You don’t think he’d help,” he said. “Interesting.”

I could feel the tension knotting at the base of my neck. I wanted to speak, to say something that would shut the whole thing down, but nothing came out. There was no safe version of that conversation. I didn’t know what Xander would do. And even if I did, I wasn’t about to hand him over to this.

Hayes studied me for a moment longer. Then he turned toward the dresser and picked up something small—a hairbrush. He turned it over once in his palm, then set it down again without comment.

“You live alone, right?” he asked in a voice so casual it chilled me. “Nice little apartment. Second floor. Good light. Organized.”

A quiet rush of nausea settled in my stomach. I didn’t move.

“We were careful,” he added. “Didn’t take anything. Just wanted to confirm a few things. Make sure there were no surprises.”

His eyes met mine again and he calmly stared at me. “Your vitamins were still on the counter. You keep your mail in a little wire basket by the door. Appointment card was sitting on the table, tucked halfway under a candle.”

I felt something slip in my chest. Not a panic, exactly. Just that awful drop when you realize you’re too late.

He smiled, just slightly. “Congratulations, by the way.”

I stood without thinking, heart hammering. “Stay away from me.”

“No one’s going to harm you,” he said. “We’re not interested in hurting people. We’re interested in results. But I imagine your father might think differently once he understands what’s really at stake.”

I took a step back, closer to the wall. He didn’t move, didn’t reach for anything, didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Just him being here was terrifying.

“You’re a bargaining chip, Miss Johnson,” he continued, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. “You are leverage.” My throat was tight, and my limbs felt heavy, but I didn’t let him see it.

Hayes gave one final glance around the room before walking to the door. “We’ll give him a little more time,” he said. “But not much.”

He stepped through the doorway and pulled the door closed behind him. I heard the lock engage with that same clean, mechanical click I had started to hate.

I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, placing both hands on my stomach. The fabric of my shirt bunched under my palms. I pressed lightly, trying to steady my breath.

They had been in my home. In my space. They knew everything now, and I couldn’t take any of it back. They knew about the baby. They sorted through my trash …

And whatever came next, I had no idea how to stop it.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs and folding my hands tightly together. My fingers wouldn’t stop moving, tracing invisible lines across my palms like I could smooth this feeling away.

The fear wasn’t loud anymore. It had settled somewhere deeper, coiled and quiet inside my chest. But it hadn’t gone. They knew. They had been in my apartment. They had touched my things, seen my appointment card, understood what even I had barely accepted. And now they could use it—use me—in whatever way made the numbers work.

I could handle being here. I could stomach the threats, the silence, the uncertainty. But the thought that they might reach for Xander next, that they’d hold the pregnancy over him the same way they were holding it over me—it made my chest lock up.

He didn’t know. He wasn’t supposed to. And if they told him—if they turned this into some twisted form of pressure—I didn’t know what he’d do. I didn’t know what that would make me in his eyes.

This wasn’t supposed to touch him. I kept him out of it for a reason.

I stood again, restless, pacing from the window to the bed and back. My reflection caught faintly in the glass, and for a second, I didn’t recognize myself. I looked tired. Smaller somehow.

If they told Xander, it wouldn’t just ruin whatever thread of peace I had left. It would pull him into this storm I never should’ve been in to begin with. And I didn’t know if he’d walk away from it, or walk toward it, or if that decision would break both of us in ways we couldn’t fix.

I pressed my fingers to the windowpane and closed my eyes.

I had no way of knowing what they’d do next, but I knew now I was afraid of more than just them. I was afraid of what this would do to Xander too.