Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Alleyway
The biting wind whipped across Park Avenue as Evelyn, ignoring Jonathan’s protests, swept out through the grand entrance with Lily tightly clutching her hand. Several high-society photographers, drawn by the commotion at the doors, raised their cameras, their flashbulbs exploding in rapid succession like lightning in a storm.
“Mrs. Whitmore! Who is the child? Is there an announcement regarding the Whitmore estate?” shouted a reporter, lunging forward past the security ropes.
“Get back!” Jonathan barked, stepping protectively in front of Evelyn while signalling two private security guards to clear a path. “No comments tonight! The event is concluded!”
Evelyn ignored the flashing lights and shouting press. Her eyes scanned the dark, wet pavement of the side alley where delivery vans usually idled.
“Sarah!” Evelyn called out, her voice breaking against the howling wind. “Sarah, it’s Mom! It’s safe now!”
Lily pointed a small, trembling finger toward the far end of the alley, where a row of heavy green industrial dumpsters cast long, ominous shadows. “She hid behind the loading dock when the black SUV pulled up. Two men in dark coats were chasing us, grandma. They said mom had something that belonged to Mr. Vance.”
Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks. Her head whipped around to stare at Jonathan, who had just caught up to them, his breath puffing in the cold air.
“What did you say, child?” Evelyn demanded, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Jonathan with sudden, terrifying clarity. “What did she say about Mr. Vance?”
Jonathan’s face remained a mask of cool professional detachment, though a tiny bead of sweat formed at his temple despite the freezing temperature. “The child is confused, Evelyn. The cold, the trauma of living on the streets—it makes them imagine things. We need to get inside, get her a doctor, and call the proper authorities to handle a runaway vagrant.”
“She’s not a vagrant, she’s my flesh and blood!” Evelyn shouted, her voice cutting through the wind. “And you—you looked entirely too unsurprised when I mentioned Sarah’s name tonight, Jonathan. You told me ten years ago that the private investigators reported Sarah had moved to Europe and wanted nothing to do with us.”
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“Because that’s what the reports stated,” Jonathan replied smoothly, though he took a half-step backward as the two private security guards looked uncertainly between their employer and their corporate legal counsel.
Suddenly, a muffled sound echoed from behind the industrial dumpsters in the alley. A sharp intake of breath, followed by the clatter of a metal crate hitting the concrete.
