Billionaire, Let's Divorce!

CLARA

The dim glow of our laptop screens were the only sources of light in the large basement room.

The intercom rang and I immediately picked it up.

"There's been another tip, Clara," she said in her usual calm voice.

"Send it in," I said as I opened up the tab where I receive the anonymous messages or phone calls we get. "Abused teen and mother, address attached. Urgent," she summarized as the message popped in.

"Thanks," I said, taking it from her. "I'll pass this to the retrieval team."

I scanned the address before I went on to read the lengthy message someone must have frantically typed.

The message was typed by a thirteen year old who was forced to reach out because his jobless mom was too scared to leave his abusive stepfather. His step father is currently out of the state and they need help before he returns tonight. Quickly, I typed out the details in our secure chat, flagged it as high priority, and sent it off to the retrieval team.

I have only worked for a few months at the charity house before I got promoted here and so far, so good.

One day, the head of the charity organization where I worked before had called me and commended me on my good work ethics and passion for my job.

It was then I found out that my boss was the son of abusive parents, both mother and father. I still found it hard to believe that he grew up to be such a kind man.

It turned out that he was not only affiliated to an underground charity network, but he was also its founder. His other charity branches were an extension of that underground network.

He came up with the idea because when he was growing up, anyone who tried to help him always got hurt as his parents were important figures in the society so he suffered in silence as he didn't want anyone to get hurt because of him.

Since I got promoted here, this place has opened my eyes to the number of people in abusive homes but are either too scared to reach out or are unable to reach out of shame and stigmatization.

After I'd sent the necessary info to the retrieval team and ensured that they had gotten on the move, I turned my attention to my routine info-gathering session.

As much as I loved my job, this part of the job was always draining. I sifted through records of people who'd reached out for help but haven't gotten any yet. Some cases weren't straightforward: no names, just pleas for help and an untraceable email. Others were heart- wrenchingly detailed, like the woman who described her husband locking her and her daughter, a toddler, in a basement for days without food.

I was scrolling through the latest entries when my burner phone buzzed on the desk. I picked it up, expecting a routine check-in or another update from a different branch. Instead, I heard muffled voices.

At first, it was just static and faint words and I briefly wondered where whoever was trying to get help was reaching out from. But then a man's voice came through, sharp and clear.

And I knew this one was no cry for help.

"-take the boy first-"

"We aren't taking the boy, fucker," another man said. "He's too young. Besides, how do we manage that? He's always in his mother's arms."

"We can-"

"Drop it, dude," that was a lady's voice, firm and definite. "Amie is our only target."

My heart stopped. I leaned in closer, gripping the phone tightly, pressing it impossibly closer to my ear.

Another voice, calmer, but just as cold, replied. "What time are we moving?"

"Immediately," the feminine voice answered. "Everyone already got the schedule. The kid will be easy. I get her myself. If the mother gets in the way, handle her."

The mother? Is that Ana?

My pulse pounded in my ears. They were planning a kidnap, and it wasn't just some random attempt at some quick bucks. This was calculated, deliberate.

"Make sure there are no mistakes," the calmer voice continued. "We can't afford any loose ends."

"Yeah, yeah," the first man muttered. "We know what we're doing." Then he added, "What's the girl's name again?"

"It's Amie," the lady bit out. "And why the fuck do you care about the name? I'll get her. Just do your part."

"Relax," the voice muttered back just before the call ended abruptly with a sharp click.

I forced myself to breathe, my chest rising and falling as I tried to think. Amie.

I stared at the phone, my mind racing, my hands trembling. Who were they? Who is the mother and the girl?

Could this be the Amie I know?

I scrambled out of my seat. I

couldn't sit here any longer. Whether the Amie was the one I knew or not, someone was in danger, and wasn't about to let them slip through the cracks.

"Clara?" I heard my colleague, the one next to my cubicle, call after me. "You good?" He further inquired as he watched me run off. I was too shaken to answer him.

Adrenaline coursed through me as I ran to the locker where we kept our personal belongings. I unlocked mine and grabbed my bag. With shaky hands I retrieved my phone from the bag and-

"Shit!" I cussed when I remembered that my ex best friend has blocked me on every social media and every way she could.

I frantically thought of other ways to

reach her, but I came up short. I

glanced at my car keys that laid at the bottom of my bag. I couldn't risk traveling down to her place now. without warning her first. There's not enough time. It was clear that these people were already on the move.

And what if I get there and she shuts me out, refusing to listen to me? Even if she does, what if she doesn't believe me?

"Dennis!" I whisper yelled, my eyes lighting up. I could still reach Dennis. I quickly typed his name in my contacts search bar and his name popped up immediately.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

As I dialed his number and waited for him to pick up, I fervently prayed that he'd believe my warning.