The next morning
Zeke skipped his jog, just like his mother had advised. Kas delivered his breakfast early, and by 8:00 a.m., he was dressed and ready to leave.
As he stepped into the elevator, his phone rang, Sydney. He answered only because he had already saved her number; he doesn't take calls from unknown numbers.
"Hello", he said.
"Hi… Mr Zeke," her voice was soft, a little uncertain.
"I just wanted to confirm… Are we still good for this morning?"
He paused. "Yes. Nine a.m."
"Okay. I just… wanted to be sure."
A silence fell between them, thick and slightly awkward.
"Thank you. For helping me move," she added gently.
Zeke said nothing for a beat. Then: "Just be ready."
"I will."
She ended the call.
Of course he was already going to pick them up, but he didn't feel the need to say that out loud.
Zeke Forbes was a proud and grumpy man.
The weekend traffic was light. A few families were out on grocery runs or early morning drives. It took thirty-five minutes for Zeke to reach Crest Street.
He had not brought any of his usual security. No dark SUVs. No attention. Just his black pickup car and quiet presence.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell echoed inside.
Sydney was in the kitchen, rinsing the plate she had just used to feed Michaela. The little girl, now playing in the living room, dashed to the door with the excited energy only children have.
"Daddy!" Michaela squealed, flinging her arms around Zeke's legs.
Zeke blinked, surprised. Then he smiled and crouched to her level.
"Well, who do we have here?"
Michaela beamed. Her mom had told her during breakfast that she would finally meet her new daddy today, and the tall man at the door fit the role perfectly.
"Hello, I'm Zeke. What is your name?"
"My name is Michaela Gilbert."
"Wow. Such a lovely name."
"Thank you!"
"Michaela!" Sydney called, rushing to the door, a worried look on her face. She had not seen her daughter in the living room and feared the worst.
The moment she saw Zeke holding a giggling Michaela, she sighed in relief.
"You are here," she said, tossing the dish towel onto a side table.
"Michaela, what did Mommy tell you about opening the door?"
"Bad men are outside," the little girl replied in a small voice, holding her ears as an apology. "I'm sorry, Mommy."
"It's okay, Michaela. Mommy's not going to scold you," Zeke said gently, picking her up with ease.
He carried her with surprising comfort, chatting softly as if they had known each other for longer than just a few minutes.
Something shifted inside him; he had not ever thought seriously about kids, but this little one stirred something… unfamiliar. Protective. Real.
"I will go get our bags," Sydney said quietly, watching the two of them.
Zeke didn't respond; he was too engaged in his conversation with Michaela. But when he noticed her struggling with a large box, he asked, "Do you need help carrying that?"
If Mrs Grace were here, she would have kicked him for asking such a ridiculous question.
"Don't worry; I can manage," Sydney replied, disappearing back inside for the rest of the bags.
Zeke gently set Michaela on the couch. "Sit here; I will be right back."
He walked out and picked up the heavy box, carrying it effortlessly to the car.
Sydney returned with another bag, just in time to see him coming back for more.
She locked the door after placing the last bag near the entrance. As she bent to lift it, Zeke stepped in and took it from her.
She stared at him for a moment and muttered under her breath with a faint smile, "He is not bad after all."
Michaela sat quietly in the back seat, clutching a small doll in her hands, her seatbelt neatly fastened across her chest. She stared out the window, her eyes wide with silent curiosity.
Sydney had hesitated for a moment before climbing into the passenger seat beside Zeke. It felt strange to leave him alone in front, awkward even. So she took the seat next to him, folding her hands on her lap.
The car ride was quiet. Neither of them spoke.
But every few minutes, Zeke glanced at the rearview mirror, stealing looks at the little girl behind him. There was something grounding about her presence, very innocent.
By the time they pulled into Whitefield, Michaela had fallen asleep, her doll still cradled in her arms.
As Zeke stepped out and opened the trunk, Kas appeared nearby, pretending to be just another neighbour on his morning stroll. He approached casually.
"Let me help you with that," Kas said, playing his part.
Sydney quickly shook her head. "Don't worry. We can carry it."
Zeke turned to Kas and gave him a pointed, cold stare, one that carried silent command.
Kas caught the message instantly.
"I insist, ma'am. Please, let me help," he said more firmly this time, stepping closer.
Zeke looked at Sydney. "You have your keys. Take Michaela upstairs. We will bring the bags."
Sydney hesitated, clearly not used to others helping her. But seeing Michaela still asleep, she nodded. Carefully, she scooped the girl into her arms; Michaela stirred but didn't wake, and carried her toward the building.
As soon as Sydney disappeared into the elevator, Kas subtly signalled to two other men nearby. The guards emerged from a black SUV parked down the street and quickly moved in, lifting the heavier boxes with practised ease.
They stacked everything neatly just outside the apartment entrance, positioned so Zeke could easily bring them in once inside.
Everything had to look normal.
No attention. No traces.
Zeke adjusted his jacket, exhaled slowly, and followed.
The apartment felt hollow; empty, dry, untouched. It was obvious no one had lived there before.
Sydney placed her jacket on the lone couch in the living room and gently laid Michaela onto it. The little girl curled instinctively, still asleep, her small hands wrapped around her doll.