Chapter 2: The Investigation
Robert locked himself in his private study, the heavy oak doors acting as a barricade against the world. The ballroom had been cleared; the gala was a disaster, a rumor mill already spinning out of control. Outside, his security team paced the hallway, but inside, Robert was dismantling his life.
He stared at the photo. It was a picture of Clara, his toddler daughter, taken the morning of the day she "died." He remembered that day with agonizing clarity—the fog, the car crash, the hospital statement that she hadn't survived the impact. He had spent two decades grieving.
He called Sarah, the maid, into the room. She was trembling but defiant. "My mother was the nurse that night, Mr. Sterling," Sarah explained, her voice low. "She was dying of cancer last month. She gave me that photo. She told me she couldn't die with the secret. Victoria bribed her to say Clara was dead, then to hand her over to a contact in Ohio. My mother took the money, but she couldn't stop thinking about you. She watched you from afar for years."
Robert felt a surge of rage so hot it was blinding. He didn't fire Sarah. He made a call to a private investigator, a man he kept on retainer for high-stakes corporate espionage—a man who asked no questions.
"I need you to find a woman," Robert commanded. "Twenty years old. Possible crescent-shaped birthmark on her left shoulder. She grew up in a foster system or private care in Ohio, likely under a false name."
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Meanwhile, Victoria pounded on his study door. "Robert, open this door! That girl is a lunatic! She’s trying to extort us! Don’t listen to her!"
Robert walked to the door and opened it just a crack. He looked at his wife—the woman he had built an empire with. "You want to talk about extortion, Victoria? We’re going to talk about trafficking. Don’t move from this house. If you try to flee, I will personally ensure you are locked away for the rest of your life."
