Chapter 4 - The Fragile Treasure in the Dark
Inside the narrow storage compartment, seventy-six-year-old Evelyn sat curled on a cold concrete riser.
Her frail frame was shivering violently beneath her light-beige cardigan and cream blouse.
Her long brown skirt was stained with dust from the unfinished interior foundation walls.
Silver-white hair had tumbled loose from her dignified bun, falling across her pale, hollow cheeks.
Her comfortable walking shoes were tucked beneath her knees as she shivered in the damp darkness.
Despite her physical weakness and trembling limbs, Evelyn's mental acuity remained razor-sharp.
Both of her thin, aging arms were wrapped with desperate strength around a small dark-brown leather handbag.
She held the purse pinned against her chest as if her very life depended on shielding it from the world.
When Arthur's muscular arms reached inside, she let out a choked sob that broke the billionaire's heart.
Arthur carefully supported her delicate shoulders, mindful of her brittle bones and fragile frame.
"Easy, Mom, I'm pulling you out, lean on me," Arthur murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears.
He gently lifted her upward, guiding her body through the jagged frame so no splintered wood could touch her skin.
Lucas immediately dropped to his knees on her left side, sliding his hands under her frail forearm.
Together, father and son lifted the matriarch out of the wretched dark hole and onto the brightly lit marble floor.
Evelyn's knees buckled the moment her feet touched the ground, her body starved of oxygen and water.
Arthur caught her entirely against his broad chest, lifting her easily as if she weighed no more than a child.
He carried her three paces to the luxurious cream-colored armchair positioned beside the grand staircase.
Carefully, tenderly, the billionaire lowered his mother into the plush cushions of the opulent chair.
Evelyn sank back into the upholstery, her breathing shallow and rapid, her pale skin translucent under the chandeliers.
Yet even as she rested her head against the silk fabric, her white-knuckled grip on the brown leather handbag never loosened.
Lucas knelt right beside her knees, grabbing her trembling left hand and pressing it to his cheek.
"You're safe, Grandma, you're out, we have you," Lucas whispered, his hazel eyes shining with tears of relief.
Arthur stood tall over them, his charcoal suit jacket unbuttoned, his chest heaving with explosive adrenaline.
His sharp jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscles in his neck strained against his starched white collar.
He looked from the dark hole beneath the stairs back to his shivering, fragile mother.
The realization that this was an intentional, calculated act of imprisonment turned his grief into lethal rage.
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"Who did this to you, Mom?" Arthur demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy baritone.
"Tell me who locked that door, and I swear to God they will never walk out of this city a free person."
