Chapter 4 - THE SOS CALL
There was a sudden, violent crash on the other end of the line, as if a heavy tool had been dropped onto concrete. The sound of machinery faded as Tommy ran into a quiet room.
When Tommy spoke again, his voice was shattered into an uncontrolled, terrified sob.
"Is he okay?! Oh God, is Connor hurt?! Where is he?!"
"He is completely safe, Tommy," James reassured him immediately, his voice cool and grounding. "He isn't hurt. He’s sitting right next to me at Brennan’s Grill on 6th Street. He just finished a full dinner. He’s completely fine."
A long, agonizing sound of relief rushed through the speaker as Tommy leaned against a wall miles away. Connor sat upright, his eyes wide as he heard his uncle’s desperate breathing over the line.
"I... I came home for my fifteen-minute break and he wasn't there," Tommy stammered, his words tumbling over each other. "I’ve been driving around the neighborhood frantically for the last hour looking for him. I didn't know what to do... I couldn't call the police because I was terrified they’d take him away from me... God, Connor, are you there?"
"I'm here, Uncle Tommy," Connor called out, his eyes swimming with tears. "I'm sorry. I was trying to help get money for food."
"Oh, buddy... you don't need to do that," Tommy wept softly. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure before addressing James again. "Sir... Mr. Mercer... thank you. Thank you for taking care of him. I don't know how I can ever repay you. I get off my shift at seven o'clock. I'll sprint over there to get him."
"We will wait right here with him," James said. "Take your time and drive safely."
"Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."
James was about to tap the screen to end the call when a sharp, professional instinct stopped him. He looked down at the paper napkin with the phone number, then at Connor’s threadbare clothes and bruised knees.
"Tommy," James said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a new weight. "Before you go, I need to ask you one specific question. And I need you to be completely honest with me."
"Anything, sir. What is it?"
"What is the exact address where you and Connor are living right now?"
There was an immediate, heavy silence on the line. The ambient sound of Tommy's breath hitched.
"Why... why do you need to know that, Mr. Mercer?" Tommy asked, suddenly defensive, panic lacing his tone again. "Are you reporting us? Please... I'm doing everything I can. We have a roof over our heads. It’s not much, but—"
"I am not reporting you to anyone, Tommy. You have my word as a man," James said firmly. "I need the address because I am going to help you. Trust me."
Tommy hesitated for three long seconds. Then, in a defeated, fragile voice, he read off an address on the far eastern edge of the city—an area James knew well. It was an abandoned industrial zone slated for demolition.
James wrote down the address on a second clean napkin. He stared at the street name for a second, his mind instantly pulling up the corporate registry records he had reviewed just three days ago at his company's board meeting.
His eyes narrowed with intense focus. "I will see you at seven, Tommy."
James ended the call and slid the phone back into his jacket pocket. He looked at Connor, then at Elliot, a cold, calculating expression forming on his face.
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"Dad?" Elliot asked, recognizing his father's 'work face.' "What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong, son," James said, pulling out his phone once again and opening a private text thread with his chief legal officer and his head of corporate security. "In fact, things are about to change."
