Ex - Husband's Desperate Search

The mahogany conference table gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights as I reviewed the quarterly projections one final time. King Corporation's board members sat in their leather chairs like vultures, waiting for any sign of weakness. Being Grey's wife had taught me to read these rooms—the subtle power plays, the calculated silences, the way men like these measured everything in dollars and dominance.

"Mrs. King, the European expansion numbers look promising," Harrison Mitchell, our CFO, was saying when my phone buzzed against the polished surface.

I glanced down at the screen. Maria Santos—Eleanor's housekeeper. Strange. Maria never called during business hours unless...

"Excuse me," I murmured, sliding my finger across the screen. "Maria? What's—"

"Mrs. Skyler!" Her voice cracked through the speaker, high and desperate. "You must come! Men with guns—they break into the house! They take Mrs. Eleanor!"

The conference room faded around me. The projections, the board members, the quarterly reports—everything became background noise as Maria's panicked Spanish mixed with broken English poured through the phone.

"What men? When?" My voice remained steady, but my hands trembled as I gripped the device.

"Twenty minutes ago! They wear masks, they push me down, they say they want money or Mrs. Eleanor dies! I try to call Mr. Grey but his phone—it goes to nothing!"

Eleanor. Sweet, elegant Eleanor who treated me like the daughter she never had. Eleanor who made Sunday dinners feel like home, who taught me her grandmother's recipes, who held my hands when Grey worked too late and promised me that love was worth fighting for.

"I'll be right there," I whispered, already standing. The board members stared as I gathered my papers with shaking hands. "Call the police. Don't let anyone else in the house."

I ended the call and looked around the table at twelve confused faces. "Family emergency. We'll reconvene tomorrow."

Harrison started to protest, but I was already moving toward the door, my heels clicking against the marble floor like a countdown timer. Eleanor kidnapped. Armed men. Ransom demands.

Where was Grey?

I jabbed his number as I waited for the elevator, my heart hammering against my ribs. Straight to voicemail. I tried again. Nothing. The elevator dinged, and I stepped inside, hitting the button for the executive floor so hard it probably left a dent.

Grey's office. He had to be in his office. He always worked late on Thursdays, always stayed behind to review the international markets. He'd know what to do. He'd fix this.

The elevator climbed toward the fiftieth floor, each second stretching like an eternity. Eleanor's laugh echoed in my memory—the way she'd thrown her head back last Sunday when I'd told her about the charity gala planning committee's latest drama. The way she'd squeezed my hand and said, "You're the best thing that ever happened to my son, darling."

The doors slid open, and I rushed down the hallway toward Grey's corner office. His assistant's desk sat empty—Linda always left by six. The entire floor felt