Chapter 5 - The Fortress Strikes Back
By Boxing Day, the panic had hardened into an aggressive, defensive fury. Desmond had spent twenty-four hours calling every mutual acquaintance, hospital, and clinic in Halifax, coming up completely empty. Ingrid had not checked into any local maternity ward under her own name, nor had she contacted her sister Solvig—or so Desmond assumed when he drove furiously to Solvig’s Dartmouth home only to find the driveway plowed and an icy indifference greeting him from behind a closed storm door.
"She’s a grown woman, Desmond," Solvig had said through the narrow crack of the security chain, her eyes burning with a cold, righteous contempt. "And you are a coward with an office on Hollis Street. Leave us alone."
Desmond returned to the South End townhouse to find a more formidable obstacle waiting for him in the third-floor parlor.
Gordon Crane sat in his high-backed motorized wheelchair, a heavy wool blanket thrown over his wasted legs, staring out at the grey slate of the garden. Even after the stroke, the old man possessed an intimidating physical gravity. His left hand twitched rhythmically against the armrest—his sole physical tell of immense, concentrated rage.
"She took the girl," Gordon rasped, his voice a gravelly, rasping struggle that required monumental effort. "She took... the hospital records."
"She took nothing that matters," Desmond lied, walking over to the sideboard to pour himself a scotch, though his hand trembled slightly. "It’s a tantrum. She’s nine months pregnant, Gordon. She’ll run out of money and crawl back by New Year's."
Gordon’s sharp eyes swung toward his son, filled with a glacial, blistering disgust. "You arrogant fool. She didn't leave because of a tantrum. She left because you gave her an exit strategy and an alibi. Crane Maritime relies on stability. A messy divorce with a missing heir and public scandal will reach the port authority before the ink dries on the throughput renewals."
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"What do you want me to do?" Desmond snapped, slamming his glass down. "Put out an amber alert for my own wife?"
"No," Gordon whispered, his voice dropping an octave into pure menace. "You find her quietly. You make sure she signs the nondisclosure agreements before the baby comes. And if she doesn't... we make sure the courts decide who is unstable."
