Read! Relax! Recharge!

12/4/2025

Having left the intern behind by the time Mal reached the main offices, he ran the final distance and burst into his office. Phillipe stood in the middle of the room with Audrey, Jeffery, and Frank. Something cold and nasty crawled through Mal’s gut to his chest and took root there like a heavy, jagged rock.

Colt had been with Phillipe.

Thoughts of car accidents, shootings, violent and sudden illness—all leaving Colt in a hospital in a coma or worse—rampaged through Mal’s brain.

“Wh-where’s Colt?” Mal stammered.

Phillipe looked terrified, and Frank wore an expression Mal could only describe as pissed off. Jeffery appeared stunned, and Audrey was the one pacing for once.

“Mr. K, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Phillipe’s words rushed out so fast it took a second for Mal to process them and realize he was holding something out to Mal. Then it registered. Phillipe’s face was bruised, and he had a cut on one hand.

“Are you all right?” Mal asked softly. He took the paper Phillipe offered, read it, frowned, reread it, and looked up at the others. “What the hell? Colt’s been kidnapped?”

“Yeah. Notice they used Colt, not Colton,” Frank pointed out.
Mal could only ask, “How did this happen?”

“We, Colt and me, were to meet at a coffee shop,” Phillipe said. “When I got there, I found his order all over the sidewalk. Then a guy comes up to me, hits me, and gives me that note. Says, ‘Do it or Colt dies.’” Phillipe took a few deep breaths. “And no cops.”

“Oh hell no,” Frank said. “We have to contact the police.”

“But they said—” Jeffery started.

Frank cut him off. “Yes, we can take a bag of money, and I have a few friends who can help. We will likely get Colt back. However, think. None of that is legal. These assholes need to go to jail, and without the police, that won’t happen. We’ll be nothing more than vigilantes and open to prosecution ourselves.” Frank flicked at the paper in Mal’s hand. “Whoever did this aren’t pros. Too sloppy. They’re small-time thugs, and that makes them very dangerous. Professional kidnappers rarely kill. I can’t say the same for this type.”

“He’s right,” Mal agreed. “And Phillipe needs to get to a doctor.”

Phillipe shook his head. “He punched my face a few times. What is really wounded is my pride because I couldn’t fight back better.”

“The detectives will want to talk to him. Having him here will save time,” Frank pointed out. “You saw the guy’s face?”

Phillipe nodded. “For a few seconds. I don’t know if I remember it well enough.”

Frank shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Pros wouldn’t have let you see them. Pros use burner phones, not notes they hand deliver themselves.”

Mal picked up the landline on his desk. “We’re not in a city, who do we contact? FBI, sheriff’s department?” He stood holding the receiver in one hand, looking around the room.

Again, Frank, bless him, stepped up. “Colt was taken from Gatlinburg. Call them. If they need more help or another agency, they’ll reach out to whomever they need.”

Audrey stepped forward with a notepad. “Here’s the number.”

Mal nodded and dialed. He didn’t often throw his family name around, or the weight it and his money carried, but he did so now without reservation. “My name is Malone Curtis Kensington of Kensington Distillery and Still House. Put me through to whoever would handle a man being kidnapped.”

After a short wait, a woman came on the line. “Mr. Kensington?”

“Yes,” Mal growled. He was expecting a runaround and to have to fight to get to the correct person. Most of what he knew of the police he’d learned on television, and he knew that wasn’t the most accurate of sources.

“Margo Telech. I’m the assistant chief of police. Tell me why you’ve called.”

Mal took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. “I expected to have to shout at a few people before I got through to the right person. Someone vital in my company, and personally very important to me, is being held for ransom.”

“By very important, you mean…?”

Mal cut her off. “Yeah, we’re involved. Him and me.”

“Mr. Kensington, we will get through this,” Assistant Chief Telech began. “There isn’t much you’re going to tell me I haven’t heard or that will surprise me. Your candor from the start will be most helpful.”

“Mal. Call me Mal.”

“Mal.” Her voice softened. “We will do everything we can to get your boyfriend back. However, I’m going to need your help. It’s important you do what my team asks. I know this is difficult, but you need to stay put until we arrive. Was there a demand for money?”

“Yes. One million dollars. I’ll pay it. I can have it here in a few hours.”

“You’re at your home?” she asked.

“The office in my distillery. My personal home is on the same property,” Mal explained.

“All right. I’ll get a team together and we’ll be there soon,” Margo said.
“What should I do about the money?” Mal asked. “I can get it, but that much in cash takes a little time.”

“Getting that money will draw attention, which is what we don’t want right now. Can you make preliminary arrangements quietly?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Go ahead and do that. I’ll see you soon,” Margo Telech said and hung up.

Following Frank’s advice, Mal and Audrey began compiling a list of employees for the past five years. Their first task was flagging anyone who might have a grudge against either Mal personally or his company. That job took longer than Mal thought it would, and they were going over the last names on the list when the police arrived. Jeffery had set into motion procuring the cash if needed and had gathered some documents they thought the officers might require.

Billy Krems escorted the two women and two men to Mal’s office, then excused himself. Mal stood and walked across the office, hand extended. One of the women was around fifty; the other looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties.

“Thank you for coming so quickly. I’m Mal Kensington,” Mal said.

“Margo Telech.” The older of the two women folded her hands in front of her and eyed Mal up and down carefully. “I’ve seen your company rep in the media. He was on The Tonight Show, I believe. But as you and I have never met, I need to ask for some ID.”

Mal offered a small smile and took his driver’s license from where he’d set it on the desk earlier and handed it over. “My identification. I trust the word of the State of Tennessee is sufficient?”