“Yeah. Came by about a week ago. Wanted in. Samir turned him away. Too young. Too jumpy.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Samir cut in. “We can find your son. For the right price.”
Stanton looked from Rashid to Samir and felt a wave of disgust. He had dealt with ruthless people in business, corrupt officials, polished crooks in expensive suits. But these men inspired something more basic—revulsion.
“I’m not bargaining with you,” he said coldly. “If you don’t know where my son is, then we’re done here.”
He turned to leave, but Samir grabbed his shoulder.
“Not so fast, rich man. You came onto my turf asking questions. That costs.”
Stanton shrugged off the hand with a quick sharp motion.
“Don’t touch me.”
The air in the room tightened. The men at the table went still, ready. Samir’s eyes took on a dangerous shine.
“Careful,” he said. He pulled a knife from his pocket. “Maybe you need a lesson.”
Stanton didn’t move. The fear he had felt earlier had hardened into something colder. This man was threatening him with a knife, trying to shake him down. Worse, he might have hurt his son.
“Put the knife away,” Stanton said calmly. “You do understand who I am, don’t you?”
“I don’t care who you are!” Samir growled, stepping closer.
At that moment the front door burst open and four broad-shouldered men in black tactical gear rushed in.
“Nobody move! Hands where we can see them!” one of them shouted.
Two of them were on Samir instantly, knocking the knife from his hand and pinning him. The others covered the rest of the room. Faced with drawn weapons, the gang members raised their hands.
“Good timing,” Stanton said, recognizing Boris’s men.
“You all right, Michael?” Boris asked, keeping his eyes on the detainees.
“I’m fine. But the boy isn’t here.”
Samir, held fast by two security men, gave a nasty grin.
“Told you that already. But if your hired muscle lets me go, maybe I’ll remember where he ended up.”
Boris looked to Stanton.
“What do you want done with them?”
Stanton thought for a moment. He could order his men to take these thugs somewhere private and force the truth out of them. But that would mean crossing a line into territory he had no interest in living in.
“Let them go,” he said at last. “But make this clear: if one hair on Alex Keller’s head is harmed, I will find every one of them and make sure they spend a very long time behind bars.”
Samir bared his teeth.
“That a threat?”
Stanton stepped close and spoke quietly.
“No. Just information. Here’s more: my security team now has your names and faces. If any of you goes near the Kellers again, your life gets very complicated very fast.”
Something in his expression must have landed, because Samir stopped smiling and looked away.
“Let them go,” Stanton repeated. “We’re leaving.”
Once outside, Boris gave him a puzzled look.
“Michael, we could’ve pressed them harder.”
“And become exactly what they are?” Stanton shook his head. “No. We’ll find another way.”
Just then one of the guards who had remained outside jogged up.
“Mr. Stanton, we found something in the building next door.” He held out a phone with a photo on the screen. “An abandoned shed about fifty yards from here.”
Stanton looked. The image showed a small room with bare walls. A mattress on the floor. A bottle of water. A bag of food. And on the mattress, a jacket he recognized immediately. The same one Alex had been wearing at the restaurant.
“Was he there?” Stanton asked sharply.
“Not now. But looks like he’d been staying there recently. Food’s fresh. Bedding still warm.”
Stanton felt everything inside him tighten.
“We need to find him, Boris. Whatever it takes.”
“We sweep the neighborhood?”
“Yes, but first…” Stanton paused. “First I need to check one place.”
County General Hospital was fifteen minutes from the shed where they had found signs of Alex. Stanton moved quickly down the corridor, ignoring the curious looks from the night staff. A man in an expensive, rumpled suit stood out in a public hospital at that hour.
“Excuse me,” he said, stopping a nurse. “I need to know whether a boy around thirteen named Alex Keller was brought in tonight.”
The nurse looked him over suspiciously.
“And who are you to him?”
“His father,” Stanton said, and the word—used for Alex for the first time—felt strange, but right.
“Wait here,” the nurse said after a pause, and disappeared into a staff room.
Stanton tapped his fingers against the wall while he waited. His gut told him Alex was here. Where else would an injured or frightened kid go? A few minutes later the nurse returned with an older doctor whose face carried the kind of fatigue that comes from too many night shifts.
“You’re Alex Keller’s father?” the doctor asked, studying Stanton closely.
“Yes,” Michael said firmly. “Is he here? Is he okay?”
The doctor hesitated, then nodded toward the office.
“Come with me.”
In the small room it was warm and smelled faintly of antiseptic. The doctor sat behind the desk and motioned for Stanton to take the chair across from him.
“I’m Dr. Peter Hayes, head of emergency medicine. A boy named Alex Keller was admitted this evening. He was brought in by ambulance with moderate injuries.”
“What kind of injuries?” Stanton asked, his stomach turning cold.
“Multiple bruises, two cracked ribs, concussion. Looks like a beating. The boy says he fell down stairs, but…” The doctor gave him a pointed look. “We both know that’s not what happened.”
Stanton clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened.
“Who did this to him?”
“He won’t say. But we have reason to believe it may have been members of a local gang. There’s a fresh tattoo mark on his hand—a black dot. It’s used by Gazi’s crew to mark recruits.” The doctor paused. “Did you know about that?”
Stanton shook his head.
“I… I haven’t been in my son’s life. I only found out today that he got mixed up with these people.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows slightly but didn’t comment.
“Can I see him?” Stanton asked.
“He’s asleep. We gave him something to help him rest. He needs it. But I have more questions for you.” The doctor leaned forward. “Where is the boy’s mother?”
“I’m looking for her,” Stanton said honestly.
“Nina is missing?”
“Possibly. And she may be in danger.”
“Have you contacted the police?”
“Not yet. But I have people looking.”
The doctor regarded him with open skepticism, and Stanton understood why. Wealthy man. Suddenly appearing father. Beaten boy from a rough neighborhood. Claiming he didn’t know he had a son. It sounded bad.
“Doctor…” Stanton leaned forward. “I know how this sounds. But I really did only learn today that I have a son. And I’m going to do everything I can to protect him. Can I at least see him?”
