Chapter 2 - TEN SECONDS ON THE LINE
Rue held the child tightly against her torso, feeling the irregular, shallow rattle of Belle's ribcage with every ragged breath. The little girl was dangerously hypothermic, and worse—she was showing clear signs of severe respiratory distress. Her skin felt clammy, and her chest moved with a desperate, unnatural heave.
"I've got you, baby. I've got you," Rue muttered softly, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. "I'm right here."
Rue reached into her own purse with one shaking hand, searching frantically for her worn, cracked smartphone to dial emergency services. But before her fingers could find the zipper, Belle's small, trembling hand moved weakly beneath the folds of Rue's coat.
With immense effort, the little girl lifted a sleek, expensive, custom-encased smartphone and pressed it into Rue's palm. The glass screen was bright, illuminated by an incoming call interface that was already active, pulsing red and green against the dark concrete backdrop.
Across the top of the display, printed in clean, bold white capital letters, was a single contact name:
DAD
Beneath the title, a caller ID readout flared: Harlan Voss.
Rue froze for half a second. Her blood ran cold.
Even a struggling waitress working double shifts in the city's hospitality district knew that name. Harlan Voss was not merely a wealthy businessman or a local developer; he was one of the most powerful, feared, and uncompromising figures in the entire Midwest. He was an underworld titan whose empire stretched across shipping docks, real estate, and municipal infrastructure—a man whose name was spoken in whispered tones by city council members and street bosses alike.
Rue swallowed hard, looking down at the pale, shivering child in her arms. The fear of stepping into Harlan Voss's dark world warred with the immediate, instinctual urge to save this little girl's life.
She swiped the screen green and pressed the phone to her ear.
Before Rue could even draw a breath to speak, a voice boomed through the speaker—deep, cold, gravelly, and saturated with lethal authority.
"You have ten seconds to tell me why you have this phone before my men hunt you down," the voice rasped, absolute and terrifying.
Rue didn't flinch. She pressed the phone tighter to her ear, her voice cutting through the man's threat with sharp, desperate urgency.
"I found your daughter!" Rue shouted into the receiver. "She's at the Meridian Theater parking garage, second level! She's slumped against a concrete pillar, she only has one shoe on, and she can barely breathe!"
A deafening silence fell over the line. For two agonizing seconds, the background noise on Harlan Voss's end—the roar of a high-powered engine and the chatter of radio comms—seemed to freeze solid.
When he spoke again, the cold, lethal composure had completely shattered, replaced by a raw, thunderous panic that vibrated through the speaker.
"Is she conscious?!" Harlan demanded, his voice cracking with fierce emotion.
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"Barely!" Rue replied, her eyes fixed on Belle's pale face. "Her skin is blue, her hands are freezing, and her breathing is shallow! I wrapped my coat around her, but she needs help right now!"
"Listen to me very carefully," Harlan ordered, his gravelly voice dropping into an intense, hyper-focused tone. "Do not move her onto her back. Keep her upright against your chest—she has a severe congenital heart condition! I am four minutes away. Do you hear me? Four minutes!"
