Chapter 22
“Thank you for your help, ma’am,” Alex said, offering the old woman a respectful nod. He glanced down at the faded photograph in his hand. “Would it be all right if I kept this picture? And could I take a quick look around the old house?”
The woman smiled gently. “Of course. You can keep it. If you ever find that little girl, please give the photograph to her. I’m sure she would want something that belonged to her family.”
“I will,” Alex promised.
He climbed the creaking steps and pushed open the front door of the abandoned house. The moment he stepped inside, the heavy scent of mildew and stale dust hit him. It was painfully obvious that no one had lived there for years.
He slowly walked through the dim rooms, his sharp eyes searching every corner. In the living room, he found an old wooden table covered in a thick layer of grime. He wiped it with his sleeve and pulled open the drawers.
Nothing.
He checked the old wardrobes in the bedrooms, but found nothing except moth-eaten clothes. He searched the kitchen cabinets and dusty shelves, but most of what he found was useless: old utility bills, broken appliances, and random household belongings.
After an hour of searching, Alex let out a frustrated sigh.
There’s nothing here.
He turned around, ready to leave, when a sound stopped him in his tracks.
Creak.
Alex froze and looked down at his feet. He took another step.
Creak.
He frowned and shifted his weight, stepping on the same wooden floorboard again. The loud, hollow creak echoed through the empty house.
“There has to be something underneath,” he muttered.
He dropped to his knees and began wiping away the thick layer of dust and dirt covering the floor. After several seconds of scrubbing, he noticed it: a faint, rectangular outline.
A hidden opening.
His eyes narrowed. He wedged his fingers into the tiny gap and pulled. The wood groaned in protest before finally giving way, revealing a small, dark compartment beneath the floorboards.
Inside sat a metal box.
He pulled it out and examined it. The box was secured with a heavy, rusted padlock. Alex glanced around, grabbed a heavy metal paperweight from a nearby desk, and smashed the lock open.
When he finally threw back the lid, his expression changed instantly.
Inside were several thick manila files and a black flash drive.
He picked up the files and quickly flipped through them, scanning the pages.
Transactions. Bank records. Wire transfers. Illegal offshore dealings.
There was enough concrete information to expose whoever had been running the shadow operation.
Alex’s jaw tightened.
So this is what they were hiding.
He quickly gathered the files and flash drive, shoved them into his briefcase, and left the house.
An hour later, Alex arrived back at the Sinclair Mansion and headed straight for Zyan’s private office. He knocked sharply and pushed the door open when he heard a deep voice.
“Come in.”
Zyan sat behind his massive desk, his dark eyes sharp and commanding.
“Boss, I found a lead,” Alex reported.
“What did you find?” Zyan asked, leaning back in his leather chair.
“The couple is dead. An old woman in the neighborhood told me they died in a car accident years ago.” Alex paused, choosing his next words carefully. “Their little daughter was taken away by people who claimed to be distant relatives.”
He stepped forward and placed the files and flash drive on Zyan’s desk.
“I found these hidden beneath the floorboards in the couple’s house.”
Zyan sat up straight, his long fingers immediately reaching for the documents. He scanned the first page, his eyes narrowing.
“Anything else?” he asked, noticing Alex’s hesitation.
Alex paused briefly before reaching into his jacket. He pulled out the framed photograph the old woman had given him.
“The old woman gave me this picture of the family,” he said, handing it over.
Zyan took the frame, his eyebrows rising in confusion. But the moment he looked at the photograph, his breath caught.
Why does she…?
“I thought the same thing, boss,” Alex murmured.
Zyan opened his mouth to speak, but a soft knock at the door interrupted him.
“Zyan? I saw Alex coming in here. Did he find anything?” Kiara asked as she walked into the office.
Instantly, Zyan moved. He turned the photograph face down, slid it into his desk drawer, and closed it silently. He could only hope Kiara hadn’t noticed.
“What is that?” Kiara asked, her eyes darting toward the desk.
“Nothing,” Zyan replied smoothly. “Just some old pictures of Grandfather.”
“Oh. Okay.” She nodded, accepting the explanation, then pointed to the files on the desk. “What about these?”
“Alex found some dirt on the Vales. The couple hid these records before they died,” Zyan explained, his tone strictly professional.
Kiara’s eyes lit up. “Are the couple on our side now? Can we bring them in?”
“No,” Zyan replied, his expression completely straight. “They’re dead.”
Kiara’s mouth fell open slightly. She stared at him, taken aback. She hadn’t expected him to deliver such heavy news with such a cold, straight face. There wasn’t even a hint of sympathy in his tone.
Ignoring her shock, Zyan pulled his laptop from a drawer and plugged the flash drive into the port.
Kiara walked closer, standing beside his chair. She bent over to get a better look at the screen, her expression serious.
Zyan glanced up. Her face was only inches from his. He could smell her sweet perfume and see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose.
Slowly, he reached out, wrapped an arm around her waist, and effortlessly pulled her onto his lap.
Kiara’s eyes widened in shock.
“What are you doing, Zyan?” she gasped, her face instantly turning bright red.
She glanced nervously toward Alex to see if he was watching. However, Alex had already turned his back, suddenly very interested in a painting on the wall. He seemed determined to be completely blind and deaf to what was happening behind him.
“Sit comfortably, kitten,” Zyan murmured, his lips dangerously close to her ear.
Her ears turned crimson. She was so close to him that she could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
She shifted slightly on his lap to adjust her position, completely unaware of the effect her movements were having on him.
Zyan let out a low, rough exhale.
“That’s enough, kitten,” he warned, his voice dropping an octave.
Realizing what she had just done, Kiara quickly turned her attention back to the laptop screen.
“Check the files,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Zyan gave a small, dark chuckle before turning his attention to the screen.
Several files appeared. He clicked on the first one, and a video began to play.
Kiara leaned forward, watching intently. The video showed the kind couple from the photograph arguing fiercely with several shadowy men in expensive suits. The couple looked frightened, but their expressions remained determined.
“We know what you’re doing,” the man said, his voice shaking with anger. “You’re using this company to carry out illegal transactions and sell fake products.”
The woman beside him nodded nervously.
“We’re not going to be part of this anymore. We’re going to expose everything to the authorities.”
The men standing opposite them grew furious.
“You will regret this,” one of them snarled.
“You can’t threaten us into silence!” the man shot back.
One of the shadowy men stepped forward, his face obscured by the dim lighting.
“You should have thought about that before trying to cross us.”
The video suddenly cut to black.
Kiara stared at the dark screen, her heart sinking.
Zyan silently opened another file, and more evidence appeared on the screen. Illegal transactions. Secret offshore payments. Names of shell companies. Financial records.
Everything was connected directly to the Vale family’s shadow syndicate.
Kiara slowly smiled, a cold, vindicated light in her eyes.
“So this is what they’ve been doing all along.”
She leaned closer to the screen, her voice dropping.
“So their deaths weren’t just the result of a simple car accident.”
Zyan remained silent. He wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. His mind was entirely consumed by the photograph locked inside his desk drawer.
There was something else Kiara needed to know.