Chapter 3 - The Discovery Behind the Dumpsters
“Mom!” Lily cried out, breaking away from Evelyn’s grip and darting blindly into the dark, narrow passage between the brick walls.
“Lily, wait! Don’t go in there!” Evelyn called, her heels clicking frantically against the icy pavement as she chased after her granddaughter.
Jonathan cursed under his breath and motioned to the guards. “Check the perimeter. Make sure no journalists followed us down here.”
As Evelyn rounded the corner of the loading dock, the ambient orange glow of a streetlamp cut through the gloom, illuminating a terrifying scene. Curled up behind a wooden pallet, shivering violently in a torn winter jacket, was a woman with matted dark hair and pale, bruised skin.
“Sarah?” Evelyn whispered, dropping to her knees in the slush, completely uncaring about her designer evening gown.
The woman slowly lifted her head. Her features were gaunt, hollowed out by years of hunger and fear, but the deep, expressive brown eyes were unmistakable. They were Evelyn’s eyes.
“Mom...?” Sarah croaked, her voice barely a whisper. She clutched her side, where a dark, spreading stain of crimson soaked through her coat. “You... you got the necklace. I told Lily... I told her if anything happened to me, she had to find you.”
“Oh, my god, Sarah, what happened to you?” Evelyn sobbed, pulling her daughter into her arms, pressing her face against Sarah’s freezing hair. “Who did this to you?”
“It was... it was Vance,” Sarah gasped, her fingers digging desperately into Evelyn’s velvet sleeve. “He didn't just push me out of the company, Mom. When I found the offshore accounts—when I found out he was embezzling from the trust and selling our shipping routes to foreign syndicates—he tried to silence me. He staged the fire three years ago, and he’s been hunting me ever since.”
At that exact moment, a heavy hand descended onto Evelyn’s shoulder.
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Evelyn looked up. Standing over them in the dim alley light was Jonathan Vance, a cold, humorless smile playing across his lips. Behind him, the two private security guards had their hands resting heavily on their holsters, their expressions completely devoid of warmth.
“It’s a real tragedy, isn't it?” Jonathan said smoothly, pulling a sleek, suppressed pistol from his inner coat pocket. “Families torn apart by secrets. But unfortunately, Mrs. Whitmore, you and your granddaughter arrived at a very inconvenient time.”
