THE GIRL IN THE PINK PAJAMAS WHO HELD THE KEY TO A BILLIONAIRE’S HIDDEN PAST

The heavy iron door slammed shut behind Marcus as he walked back toward the ship’s bridge, leaving a single armed guard stationed near the stairwell. The icy wind howled across the rusted metal deck, masking the sound of Julian and Clara creeping toward the shadows of a towering stack of shipping containers.

“We can’t fight a guard with a firearm, Julian,” Clara whispered fiercely, pressing her back against the corrugated steel wall. Her breath plumed white in the freezing sea air.

“If we rush him, we’ll be dead before we even reach the stairs.”

Julian’s eyes scanned the deck, tracking the guard’s patrol pattern. The man in the black tactical vest paced slowly, holding a heavy submachine gun, his attention focused entirely on the horizon.

“We don't need to fight him,” Julian replied quietly, pulling the brass micro-drive from his pocket.

“We need a distraction. When I give the signal, throw that rusted pipe against the opposite railing.”

Clara nodded, her jaw set with grim determination. She picked up a heavy length of iron scrap metal from the deck floor. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she hurled it across the metal deck.

Clang!

The pipe struck the steel railing with a deafening ring. The guard spun around instantly, raising his weapon and shouting into the wind as he rushed toward the noise.

“Now!” Julian hissed.

They sprinted across the open deck, moving with silent speed. Julian slammed his shoulder into the heavy iron door of the cargo hold just as the guard turned back around, realizing he had been tricked. Julian slipped through the narrow gap, pulling Clara inside and slamming the heavy latch shut from the inside just as the guard’s fists hammered furiously against the steel exterior.

Inside, the cargo hold was vast, dimly lit by flickering overhead emergency lights, and smelled heavily of antiseptic and diesel fuel. Rows of high-tech containment pods lined the walls, their digital monitors blinking in steady rhythms.

“Julian... look over there,” Clara whispered, grabbing his arm with trembling fingers.

In the center of the room, sitting inside a transparent bio-isolation cylinder, was Lily. She was wearing her pink pajamas, hugging her knees to her chest, her blonde braids resting over her shoulders. She looked up as she heard them approach, pressing her small hands against the glass.

“Uncle Julian?” Lily’s muffled voice echoed through the internal intercom speaker.

“The bad men said you weren't coming back.”

Julian rushed to the cylinder, slamming his palm against the glass, his heart breaking at the sight of her trapped inside.

“I’m right here, Lily. And I’m not leaving without you.”

Before Julian could find the manual release valve on the console, a sharp, amplified voice echoed over the cargo hold’s public address system, freezing them in place.

“Touching family reunion, Julian,” Marcus’s voice sneered from the overhead speakers.