Page 13 of Her Submission (Monica & Henry #2)

Old Agreements / New Clauses

Once she was securely back in Warren Manor, Monica took a moment to collect herself into the woman everyone expected her to be before calling Ethan and telling him everything.

Well, almost everything. There were certain details he didn’t need to know.

“Thailand…”

Ethan was too silent for too long. What I would give to have him in this room with me. Yet he refused to come over out of fear of someone seeing him during such a pivotal time in the Warrens’ collective lives. Just let me know you’re still there, Ethan. This man was her biggest rock outside of Henry, and not just because they were former lovers. He was her true best friend and the only other man who could come close to understanding her and Henry’s unconditional love for their daughter, even though he wasn’t yet a father.

“Are you there?”

Monica whispered from the safety of her couch.

“Yes. Sorry. I was just thinking.”

Ethan cleared his throat.

“Trying to think of a connection between that family and Thailand.”

“Eva is somewhere trying to figure out the same thing. Guess we’re lucky because she used to oversee the family’s mines in Southeast Asia before we sold them. She’s familiar with the region and her family’s connection to it, at least.”

“Good. I’m sorry that this is happening, Monica. It was bad enough when your mother-in-law kidnapped Abigail to France. But Thailand? At least they have a treaty with this country.”

“I don’t want to get ahead of ourselves. I still haven’t even told Henry yet. I haven’t heard from him at all.”

That realization only dawned on her then. Monica had been so busy rushing from here to there in search of information about her daughter’s whereabouts that she had forgotten that Henry should have been in Nice by now. He was heading straight to the Beaumonts’ villa to demand answers if Abigail wasn’t there… and if what Paisley said was right, then no, Abigail was already gone.

Ethan offered to look into it as well, although he couldn’t promise anything.

“Thank you.”

Monica was crying again, her cheeks so hot, then cold, that she wondered what was the point of trying to keep the tears from coming.

“I feel like a chicken running around with her head cut off. What if I don’t find her in time, Ethan? What if Isabella is in this for the long haul and isn’t about to be found? She’s so… crazy!”

“She must know she’s in huge trouble if she’s caught. She’s not coming back from this.”

“I want her in prison for the rest of her life,”

Monica growled into her phone.

“If not dead, then imprisoned for life. I want her so scared of coming back to America that I never see her again! I just…”

She banged her head back on the couch.

“I just need Abby. Good God, I just need to find her. Now.”

“I’ll keep you posted. Keep me updated, too.”

Monica tossed her phone on the other side of the couch when she hung up. After closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her forehead, she found more tears around her eyes and hated herself for being so weak. Why am I still here? Her nerves begged her to get off that couch and run. Why am I not on a plane to Thailand right now? Because she didn’t know where in that large country to go. Looking up the Beaumonts’ secret holiday compound wasn’t as easy as using Google Maps or calling her best friends for the latest scoop. This wasn’t crashing someone’s wedding or upstaging a rival at her birthday party. This was Abigail’s life.

Because no matter how Monica parsed it, she was afraid for her daughter’s future. Abigail may be young enough to still believe she was on a fun getaway with Grandma, but things would change once she realized she couldn’t see her parents. That they were in hiding. That her name had possibly changed, and that Grandma had no intention of going back to America.

That they were country-hopping to stay ahead of investigations. Abigail’s passport was still good for a few more years. As long as Isabella was smart about what countries she smuggled her granddaughter into… the authorities, let alone the other Warrens, might never know.

And then what? Abigail was raised in isolation? Brainwashed to become her grandmother’s perfect real daughter, because her actual children turned out to be such disappointments? Because they didn’t adhere to her ideas of what it meant to be a Warren?

She could hear Isabella now.

“You and Henry can have another one. This one will not be corrupted, though.”

As Monica sank deeper into despair, her phone buzzed. She could not bring herself to check her messages. Life was much easier right now if she simply buried her face in her couch pillow and sobbed.

It took Elson shaking her arm to get Monica to come up for air, her nose dripping and her eyes swollen from tears.

“My apologies, but it’s urgent, Mrs. Warren,”

the butler said.

“Eva sent me over to fetch you. She’s asked me to bring you to where she’s currently ‘interrogating’ her father.”

“Gerald’s here?”

Had he come back from Montana? Already.

“Did Eva get something out of him?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am. She simply said it’s urgent.”

Knowing Eva, it was more along the lines of.

“Drag her ass back here if you have to!”

but Monica got the point. She agreed to go with Elson just as soon as she finished wiping off her face and making herself presentable to her father-in-law, who knew more than he let on.

She checked her phone on the way out of her living room. Sure enough, it was from Eva, and Gerald was on the verge of squealing.

The only nice thing Monica could say about her father-in-law, the man who had plunged his family into dire debt with Jackson Lyle, was that he was motivated by one obvious thing.

Monica had seen it the first time they met a decade ago. She had dedicated most of her adult life to anticipating and serving the needs of men, after all, so why wouldn’t someone as uninspired as Gerald Warren be the easiest book in the world to read? Because while many men she knew were driven by power, lust, and greed, Gerald was past all of that and simply begged to be left alone to his own floundering devices.

The whole reason he and Isabella had moved to a ranch out in Montana was to get away from the creditors and to let their children deal with the worst of it. From what Monica understood, it was all Gerald’s plan: the man wanted to retire, and he wanted it to be an isolated retirement where nobody would bother him. He was over the urban, socialite lifestyle and desired to simply invite select people to visit him in Montana when it suited him. Old friends and business associates who would smoke his cigars, play at his custom poker table and affirm that the mountain views were exquisite and the snow perfect for outdoor adventure.

His wife, on the other hand, was a diva to the bone. Until Monica came into the picture, Isabella had been playing hostess and wannabe jewelry designer in Montana but frequently flew back to New England to attend her friends’ parties and to always remain in the “know”

of what was happening in high society. There were social deals to broker and promises to be made. She yearned to judge those she deemed beneath her and to be all up in her children’s business. When Monica became engaged to Henry, all of that was dialed up to a hundred as Isabella realized she had completely lost control of the Warren name she had also married into.

Gerald was weak and pathetic, but Isabella was a dangerous torrent. There wasn’t a member of this family who hadn’t been brought to sobbing tears of self-hatred because of Isabella’s poisoned admonishments. Except for Gerald, perhaps. He had nothing else to lose… except for, perhaps, his peaceful golden years.

Was it any wonder he wanted this third round of inquisitions over with?

“First it was France, now it’s Thailand!”

Gerald turned toward the other corner of his recliner with a huff.

“I don’t know where the damn woman is. Quite frankly, she could fall off a cliff in Capri and I wouldn’t give a damn! All she’s ever done is cause trouble. From the moment I foolishly married her, she’s been scheming, dreaming, and driving me to the ponies!”

“You don’t get to blame Mom for your gambling addiction,”

Eva informed her father.

“Besides, Henry and I know all about your habit back in college.”

Monica wasn’t aware of that detail, but it didn’t sound like anyone was going to say anything else about it.

“Bah. Whatever. You say she took the kid to Thailand?”

“Yes. To some secret holiday compound the Beaumonts have…”

“That so? Well, I may have visited some place of theirs in Thailand a time or two. Jean-Pierre he, ah, partially grew up in Southeast Asia because his father Raphael was heavily involved in some of the post-war industrializing going on there. The Beaumonts even go as far back as Colonial Vietnam, you know.”

This wasn’t helping, and Monica made sure he knew that from the look on her face.

“Where’s the compound?”

she asked.

“Hold on a second. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been there? I’ve barely spoken to Raphael in the past ten years. They came to your damn wedding, and that was it, it was like I didn’t exist anymore. It’s always been about Lily and Isabella, anyway. Those two? Peas in a pod. You should have seen when the original Evangeline was part of their group! Ha! Hey, did you know your mother named her after that girl? I didn’t get much say in anything about you.”

“Dad. Stay on topic.”

“I know so little about this! I can confirm that Jean-Pierre probably runs the family compound in Thailand now, but what city it’s near? I truly do not recall, girls. Either way, I’m sure Abigail is perfectly safe. Your mother is a bigger fancy-pants than me and would hardly be seen roughing it like I used to when on holiday with Raphael. I’ve gone to the bathroom in places even your delicate behind wouldn’t touch, Evangeline.”

“Dad.”

“Could be near Bangkok. Or Chiang Mai. Or Phuket, for all I know! All completely different parts of the country. I’ve been all over. Jean-Pierre knows it like the back of his hand. Used to have a girlfriend in every province. Don’t ask me how old some of them were… I’d rather not know. Never had those tastes.”

Just the mention of such a thing made Monica stomp up to her father-in-law and slam her hands on either side of his chair.

“Your granddaughter has been taken to Thailand to be raised in this family’s compound so she can be married off in ten years to one of those bratty boys of Jean-Pierre’s!”

Monica didn’t know how true any of this was, but in her heart of hearts, she knew something bad would happen to the daughter taken from her if the family didn’t interfere immediately.

How dare this man sleep through it? Gerald had never shown genuine love to any of this family, but even he did his dutiful duty of pretending to fawn over Abigail’s birthday presents and school projects.

She sat on his lap on Christmas mornings and spoke to him over Facetime when he bothered to be available in Montana.

Monica knew that, as the years went on, he’d drift away from her.

Assuming he even lives that long…

She merely prayed that the distance would be Abigail’s idea and not her grandfather’s. It was better that way. Let her have the memories and learn the truth when she’s older.

At this rate, though…

“Didn’t Henry go to Nice? He should ask them himself.”

“That’s such a stupid idea, Dad! He’ll give us all away! We want to intercept Mom before she even knows we’re coming. If Henry’s at the Beaumonts’ villa, they’re already informing her that we know they’re involved. They’re trafficking your granddaughter!”

“If you say so…”

I will slap this man, so help me God. Instead, Monica shoved herself away from him before she couldn’t control herself.

“This is ridiculous,”

she said.

“You know something, Gerald. You know where your wife has taken Abigail. We just need you to shake that noggin harder and figure out where exactly it is. What name it goes by on maps… who in Thailand to bribe to tell us… it’s like you don’t even care.”

He rolled his eyes as if Monica couldn’t be more hysterical.

“Give me a moment. Give me a moment.”

Gerald pointed to his daughter.

“I don’t know where the old family albums went, but the brown one with gold writing has some of my old travel photos. Thailand would be in there. Maybe there’s something that can tell us a name. You.”

He pointed to Monica.

“You know about bribes? Then get on the phone with the American consulate in Thailand. They’ll tell you what to do, and how much it might cost. But only if you play the Warren card. Otherwise, they’ll play dumb. And you don’t involve the police any further unless you’re sure you can’t go any farther.”

At his unconventional command, Eva and Monica split up to their separate tasks.

Monica didn’t know what drove her crazier: being on hold with the American Consulate in Thailand, or searching through an attic’s worth of old photo albums hoping against hope that the one in question was even still functional.

By the time she hung up on the folks in Thailand, Eva was already back in the other room with three albums that her father flipped through as if he were searching for his own baby pictures.

Monica forgot about what she had written down from her conversation because she was too transfixed on what her father-in-law was up to.

“What?”

Eva was almost offended by Monica’s surprise.

“If there’s one thing I beat everyone at here, it’s remembering where my parents stash shit nobody cares about anymore. God, I need a cigarette.”

Monica could have quipped.

“But you don’t even smoke,”

except this wasn’t the appropriate time. Besides, she knew exactly how Eva felt. All this standing around, waiting for one old man to collect a modicum of care about his granddaughter, was stressful.

Gerald had an answer within fifteen minutes. Monica used an app on her phone to name the location in the photo, and the app replied that one of the plants was indigenous only to southern Thailand. Further prodding of Gerald’s memory revealed the name of the family holiday estate about an hour south of Phuket.

Monica stared at the location on her phone map. Sure enough, there was a nameless void in the middle of the otherwise articulate map. A sure sign that a family had paid for their estate to not be documented. The Beaumonts had that kind of money.

Yeah, I need a cigarette, too. Isabella had just offered up the perfect child to a European family willing to hold on to their heir’s future bride.

When she put it like that in her own head… it sounded so surreal that it was a far cry from what she thought her life would be like when she was a girl. Please be okay, Abby. Monica almost collapsed into more sobs as she thought of her little girl trapped in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by people she didn’t know, realizing that nobody was taking her home…

It had only been two days, she told herself. There was still time.

Once Eva and Gerald had an address and some tangential confirmation of an address in Thailand, it was decided. Or at least it was in Monica’s mind.

“With what plane?”

Eva asked when Monica announced she was leaving immediately.

“And I’m coming with you!”

This time, Monica put her foot down.

“No. You need to stay here and keep an eye on your father. We also need someone here to relay messages and potentially speak with the police. In the meantime…”

Sighing, Monica held her phone up to her ear. A ringing sound purred in the background.

“I know exactly how to procure a plane at the last minute.”

She only felt a slight caress of relief when Ethan answered his phone. If his plane wasn’t available? Monica had a laundry list of people who owed her large favors. She’d go down that list until she was on a plane to the other side of the world.

What was privilege for, if not saving her daughter?