Chapter 172: For My Son
Lucy’s POV
Without another word, he stood and walked out, his movements quick as it escaping a trap. The door closed behind him with a decisive click that made Mary flinch.
Her face paled with anger, eyes flashing. "How did I raise such an ungrateful child? Everything I do is for his benefit!"
I maintained my calm exterior while my mind calculated. My difficult years back home had taught me valuable lessons-self-preservation must come first. Those lessons were etched into my soul with scars I’d never show anyone.
I approached Mary, speaking in a gentle tone: "Mrs. Simpson, please don’t upset yourself. Jack has been working at the office since yesterday.
He knows what he’s doing."
Mary’s eyes snapped to mine, her expression shifting as she registered my words. "At the office? Not just searching for that baby?"
"He’s balancing both," I explained, careful to keep my voice neutral. "With everything happening with Mr. Simpson, Jack understands the importance of maintaining a presence at Simpson Group."
This wasn’t just empty reassurance.
During the chaos of Benedict’s kidnapping and George’s arrest, Id quietly secured a position as Jack’s executive assistant. While everyone focused on the crisis, I focused on my future.
Mary’s expression brightened immediately. "That’s good thinking, Lucy. You’re smart." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Keep an eye on both him and George for me."
I nodded, the perfect picture of compliance. "Of course, Mrs. Simpson."
Anna’s POV
I sat cross-legged on my meditation mat, eyes closed, breath steady. The doctor had advised gentle meditation to help with my recovery after the C-section. Physical healing was progressing well, but the emotional wounds of Benedict’s kidnapping remained raw.
"Ms. Shaw." Rachel’s voice broke through my carefully constructed calm.
"George Simpson must have received some information. He’s definitely getting nervous." Her eyes gleamed with excitement. "Clayton is already keeping an eye on him. Hopefully this time we’ll catch him red-handed."
I exhaled slowly, pulling myself back from the emptiness I’d been trying to cultivate. My pulse quickened despite my outward composure.
"Get everything ready. We’re going too."
Rachel blinked, clearly caught off-guard. "You’re coming too? But it’s quite cold today, and your condition—"
"That’s why we need to prepare properly," I said, rising carefully from the mat. The incision site no longer hurt with each movement, but I knew not to push my limits. Benedict would be home soon, and I needed to be fully recovered to care for both my children.
Fifteen minutes later, I was bundled in my warmest down coat, a cashmere scarf wrapped around my neck, sunglasses perched on my nose. The disguise wasn’t just for anonymity—l didn’t want anyone seeing the cold fury in my eyes.
"Mom, please watch Sophia. I have some business to attend to." I kissed my mother’s cheek, my gaze traveling to my sleeping daughter.
- - -
The SUV cut through Skyview City’s afternoon traffic, headed toward the industrial outskirts. Abandoned warehouses loomed against the gray November sky, their windows like dead eyes staring down at us.
"Security cameras are broken here,"
Rachel observed, scanning our surroundings as we approached.
"Perfect place for destroying evidence."
I nodded, my attention fixed on a dilapidated brown brick building ahead. "George Simpson is in there?"
"Yes, Clayton didn’t dare get too close for fear of alerting them. But he confirmed both George and his assistant entered about twenty minutes ago."
Just as she finished speaking, dark smoke began billowing from the warehouse windows.
"Damn it, something’s burning," Rachel cursed, already reaching for her phone.
My stomach tightened. _George Simpson is destroying evidence._
Sean accelerated without being told, the SUV bouncing over the uneven ground as we rushed toward the warehouse. The acrid smell of burning plastic hit me as soon as I stepped out of the vehicle.
George Simpson and Pax Powell stood facing Clayton near the warehouse entrance. The interior behind them glowed orange with flames.
"What did you burn?" I asked, my voice cutting through the winter air.
George’s head snapped toward me, surprise flashing across his face before it settled back into its usual mask of superiority. He turned away dismissively, as if I were beneath his notice.
Clayton stepped in front of him. "Sir, I need you to stay where you are."
George’s lip curled with contempt.
"What do you want?"
"Clayton, did you record it?" I asked, the plan already forming in my mind.
He nodded firmly. "Got it all, Ms. Shaw."
I pulled my coat tighter around me, less from the cold than from the effort of containing my rage.
"You burned all the evidence, didn’t you? Isn’t arson a criminal offense?"
"Whether I’ve broken the law isn’t for you to decide." George’s eyes were cold and lifeless. "Get out of my way."
The casual arrogance in his voice-after everything he’d done-snapped something inside me. My newborn son had pneumonia because of this man.
Logan Porter had nearly died. My entire family had lived through weeks of hell.
"Restrain them." My command was soft but absolute.
Clayton and Sean moved before George could process what was happening.
Within seconds, both he and Pax were secured.
"Anna Shaw, what do you think you’re doing?" Genuine fear cracked through George’s carefully maintained facade.
"I’m getting revenge for my son." The words tasted like justice on my tongue.
We marched them to a small wooded area away from the main road. Clayton efficiently bound them to separate trees with plastic zip ties.
"Ms. Shaw, what should we do next?" Clayton’s voice was neutral, professional.
’Take off their coats," I instructed.
"They won’t freeze to death, but make sure they suffer."
Clayton hesitated only momentarily before complying. November’s bitter wind whipped through the trees, and I watched with grim satisfaction as George’s body immediately began to shiver.
"You won’t get away with this," he sputtered, teeth already chattering. "Do you know who I am?"
I stepped closer, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I know exactly who you are. A man who would kidnap a newborn baby to get what he wants."
Fear finally registered in his eyes—not of the cold, but of me.
"George Simpson, this isn’t over between the Shaw family and you." I turned to leave, then paused. "And when your body temperature drops enough that you start feeling sleepy, remember that’s how my son felt when he was being transported in the cold with pneumonia."