Chapter 3
Edward returned to his car in a daze, the shock of the encounter lingering like a physical blow. He sank into the back seat, motionless for a long moment.
"Home, Mr. Sterling?" Tom's voice broke the heavy silence from the front.
"No," Edward replied.
Another stretch of quiet followed before Edward finally moved, pulling out his phone.
He dialed a number, his voice low and controlled when the line connected. "I need a background check."
On the other end was Michael Lane, his private assistant of eight years, renowned for his efficiency and thoroughness.
"Target is at Greenview Meadow Apartments, Building 3, Unit 301, on Riverside Road in Riverdale. A woman, mid-twenties, with a young boy, about four years old. I want everything: name, age, profession, family history, every detail of the past five years. On my desk by morning."
"Yes, Mr. Sterling," Michael replied.
The call ended. Edward leaned back, closing his eyes.
An image burned behind his eyelids: a pale, tear-streaked face.
Why had she run? Why hide with a child in a place like that?
What really happened that night, five years ago?
Edward remembered a stack of cash on the nightstand before he blacked out.
When he woke up, it was gone, and he figured she must have taken it.
But now, a chilling new possibility surfaced.
What if that money was a plant, left by the people who'd set him up?
What if she hadn't been part of their scheme at all, just an innocent bystander who'd stumbled into the wrong room?
His eyes snapped open.
If that was true, what had she endured because of him?
*****
The next morning, Michael delivered the report to Edward's desk right on schedule.
Edward opened the folder; the first page listed her basic details.
[Name: Claire Evans. Age: 25]
[Occupation: Freelance illustrator, contracted with small online platforms; income unstable.]
[Family Background: Orphan. Raised at Riverdale Orphanage. No known living relatives.]
[Education: Riverdale College of Art (dropped out sophomore year).]
The word "dropped out" seemed to pulse on the page.
He continued reading.
Five years ago, Claire was nineteen, a promising sophomore at the art college.
Her academic record was stellar, placing her in the top three of her class with glowing faculty reviews. A scholarship for study abroad seemed within reach.
Then, that winter, she abruptly withdrew. No explanation given.
She vanished for a time, reappearing later with a newborn son.
The following years were a patchwork of survival: stocking shelves at a supermarket, waiting tables, handing out flyers on street corners, all while scraping together freelance illustration gigs.
Claire never applied for public assistance, never asked anyone for help.
For nearly five years, she and the boy had made it on their own.
The report's final pages held photographs.
One showed a bright-eyed Claire in a sun-drenched college art studio, a carefree smile on her face.
The other was a grainy supermarket surveillance still from last winter. There, she stood behind a checkout counter in a store uniform, face drawn, dark circles under her eyes.
The contrast between the two images was a physical weight in Edward's chest.
He shut the folder, the silence in his office stretching thin.
"Michael," he called quietly.
"Yes, Mr. Sterling?" Michael responded.
"Contact Riverdale College of Art. Sterling Holdings will establish a dedicated scholarship fund there," Edward said.
"Understood, Mr. Sterling," Michael replied.
"And dig deeper. I need to know the exact reason Claire dropped out. I want to know everything that happened to her after that night," Edward said.
Michael cleared his throat, a rare sign of hesitation. "There's one more thing, Mr. Sterling. Her medical records show several visits over the past three months. The department is..."
He paused, the words stuck in his throat.
"Oncology," Michael finally said.
Edward's hand tightened, crumpling the edge of the folder.
"What does that mean?" he demanded.
"I'm not sure about the specifics, but she's been to oncology a few times lately, and each time she left with a bag of meds," Michael replied.
Edward sprang up, his chair sliding back and crashing into the window with a harsh bang.
"Get the car," Edward ordered.
"But the board meeting this morning—" Michael reminded him.
"Postpone it."