Chapter 4 - Unraveling the Past
The heavy oak doors of Marcus Duca’s office remained firmly shut for two hours after he opened the manila envelope. No managers entered. No security enforcers were summoned. The silence inside that room was dense and suffocating, the kind of stillness that precedes a catastrophic hurricane.
Marcus stared at the photograph of Veronica for an eternity. The image had been pulled from an old personnel file that had somehow slipped through the digital purges of his household staff years ago. But it wasn't just the face that made his chest tighten; it was the date stamp on the back and the stark realization of what had transpired the week after she vanished.
Six years ago, immediately after Veronica signed her rushed resignation letter and walked out into the rain, Giovanni had abruptly packed his bags and taken an extended, unexplained "business trip" to Europe for six months. At the time, Marcus had dismissed it as another one of his brother’s reckless benders.
Now, viewing the pieces through a newly bloodshot lens, the puzzle slammed together with brutal precision.
Giovanni hadn't gone to Europe to blow off steam. He had fled because Marcus had nearly caught him red-handed stealing from the family safe to pay off his catastrophic gambling debts. And rather than owning up to his own cowardly theft, Giovanni had allowed Marcus to cast out an innocent, terrified twenty-two-year-old girl.
Marcus slammed his fist down onto the mahogany desk with enough force to splinter the polished wood. A low, dangerous curse hissed through his clenched teeth. For six years, the core of his criminal enterprise had prided itself on absolute control and ruthless justice. Yet, he had allowed his own blood to commit a cowardly injustice under his very roof, punishing an innocent soul who had dared to look him in the eye and speak the unvarnished truth.
He didn't hesitate. He reached for his encrypted desk phone and punched a single extension.
“Raymond,” Marcus growled the moment the line connected, his voice devoid of all warmth.
“Boss?” Raymond’s gruff voice answered instantly.
“Pull the old employment archives from six years ago. Every background check, every tax form, every emergency contact address we had on file for Veronica Thompson.”
“Boss, that was six years—'”
“I didn't ask for a history lesson, Raymond! Find her file. And find it in the next twenty minutes, or you’ll be spending the rest of your natural life counting crates in a Siberian timber yard.”
The line clicked dead.
Nineteen minutes later, Raymond stood nervously inside Marcus’s office, sliding a thin, dust-covered folder across the desk. It contained Veronica’s original hiring paperwork from the staffing agency, including her mother’s old address on the South Side of Chicago.
“We checked the primary address listed on the intake form three years ago when we restructured payroll records,” Raymond reported cautiously, keeping his distance. “The building was demolished for a commercial parking lot. Her mother passed away four years back. As far as public databases are concerned, the trail went completely cold.”
Marcus didn't blink. He stood up from his leather chair, shrugging his heavy suit jacket over his broad shoulders. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out over the glittering expanse of Lake Michigan.
“People don't just vanish into thin air, Raymond,” Marcus said coldly. “They leave footprints. They buy groceries, they ride buses, they send kids to school. Check utility records, medical billing registries, public transit cards linked to her social security number. I want to know where she lives, what she does, and every single breathing second of her daily routine.”
“You want her brought in, Boss?” Raymond asked, misinterpreting the cold fury in his leader's voice.
“No,” Marcus snapped, turning around with an intensity that made Raymond take a half-step back. “We don't drag her anywhere. You find her location, and you give it directly to me. Understood?”
“Crystal clear, Boss.”
It took Marcus’s top digital trackers less than six hours to crack what public databases had hidden for years. By late afternoon, a sleek, encrypted dossier landed on Marcus’s tablet screen.
Veronica Thompson.
Current Residence: Two-bedroom apartment, South Side.
Occupation: Medical billing specialist.
Marcus’s dark eyes scanned down the page, taking in the mundane, honest details of her hard-fought life. She hadn't run off with his forty thousand dollars; she had lived in a modest, working-class neighborhood, riding public buses and working for every single dollar.
Then, his eyes dropped to the final line of the encrypted report—a minor medical registry cross-reference from a local clinic that triggered an icy shockwave straight to his core.
Dependents: One.
Name: Amelia Rose Thompson.
Age: Six years old.
Date of Birth:
Marcus calculated the timeline in his head with mathematical precision. August of that year. Exactly nine months after November six years ago—the exact week Veronica had stood across from his desk, pressed her hand against her stomach, and walked out into the rain.
The air in the office suddenly felt entirely inadequate.
Marcus stared at the glowing screen, his powerful frame freezing in absolute disbelief. He had a child. A daughter he never knew existed, raised in the shadows while he built an empire on violence and isolation.
May you like
He didn't wait for Raymond. He grabbed his car keys, strode out of his private office past stunned subordinates, and got into his black town car.
The game of hiding in the shadows was officially over.
