Chapter 4 - The Investigation and the Ultimatum
Forty-five minutes later, Sadie found herself seated in a plush velvet armchair in Ronan’s private office located on the top floor of the Continental. A warm cup of chamomile tea sat untouched on the mahogany side table beside her, untouched because her hands were still shaking too violently to lift the porcelain cup.
The office was a fortress of dark wood, leather-bound books, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering, rain-slicked skyline of Chicago.
Leo stood near the massive mahogany desk, sliding a thick manila folder across the polished wood toward Ronan.
Ronan sat behind the desk, his fingers steepened beneath his chin as he read through the contents. Every second that passed felt like an eternity to Sadie, who sat huddled in the armchair, wearing an oversized cashmere sweater one of the female floor supervisors had reluctantly fetched for her.
“Well?” Ronan asked quietly, not looking up from the papers.
“It’s all right there, Boss,” Leo said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Her name is Sadie Merritt, twenty-six. Employed here as a junior floor server for eighteen months. Clean record, pays her taxes, no criminal ties. But the residential address on her employee file... it’s a rundown duplex on the industrial south side.”
Ronan finally looked up. His dark eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “And the co-habitant?”
“Registered to a Carl Jenkins,” Leo replied, reading from a printed sheet. “Thirty-one years old. Former amateur boxer, currently working odd construction jobs when he’s not drinking at local dive bars. Multiple domestic disturbance calls logged by local precinct units at that address over the past two years, though no formal charges were ever pressed because the victims always refused to cooperate with responding officers.”
The temperature in the office seemed to drop twenty degrees instantly.
Ronan stood up so fast his leather chair rolled back and slammed against the wood-paneled wall behind him. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with a lethal, suffocating pressure.
“No formal charges,” Ronan repeated, his voice deceptively soft, dripping with cold venom. “Because local cops are too lazy and corrupt to protect a citizen in their own district.”
He walked slowly around the desk, stopping in front of Sadie. He knelt down on one knee so he was looking directly up into her face, bridging the physical distance between them.
“Sadie,” Ronan said gently, his voice stripped of all its corporate armor. “Look at me.”
She slowly raised her eyes, tears shimmering unshed in the corners of her dark lashes.
“Why didn't you go to the police?” he asked, his tone filled with genuine, quiet confusion.
A bitter, broken laugh escaped Sadie’s lips. “The police? Mr. Hayes, the local precinct officers drink at the same bar Carl goes to. They’ve laughed in my face when I tried to show them bruises before. In my neighborhood, the law doesn't exist unless you have money to buy it. And I was just trying to survive long enough to save two thousand dollars to get away.”
She reached down, pulling a small, worn notebook out of her pocket and opening it to a hidden page. She showed it to him.
Neatly written in ink were rows of numbers, tracking every single dollar, every tip, every shift picked up—culminating in a desperate tally: Total saved: $1,800. Goal: $2,000.
Ronan stared at the pathetic, beautiful ledger of her freedom.
A muscle twitched violently along his jaw. In a world where millions of dollars moved through his hands every single day, seeing the agonizing, penny-by-penny price of a woman’s life struck him with the force of a physical blow.
He stood up, towering over the desk, and looked directly at Leo and the two enforcers standing near the door.
“Ignatio, Marcus, get your gear,” Ronan ordered, his voice echoing with absolute finality. “We’re taking a ride out to the south side.”
Panic surged through Sadie. She sprang up from the armchair, stumbling forward. “No! You can’t just go down there! He has a gun! If you confront him, he’ll come after me, he’ll burn my life to the ground—”
“He won't have a life left to burn by midnight, Sadie,” Ronan interrupted, turning back to look at her with an expression of such fierce, uncompromising protection that it took her breath away.
“What are you going to do to him?” she whispered, terrified.
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Ronan walked right up to her, lifting his hand to gently, reverently brush a stray lock of dark hair away from her bruised cheek. His touch was warm, grounding, and completely steady.
“I am going to show Mr. Carl Jenkins what happens when you lay violent hands on a woman who belongs under my protection,” Ronan said quietly. “And then, Sadie... your debt is paid in full.”
