Chapter 7 - The Shadows Behind the Glass
An hour after Eleanor was escorted from the building by security, Marcus, Matthew’s head of intelligence and former Special Forces operative, slipped into the waiting room. He carried a leather folder under his arm, his expression solemn and grim.
“Boss,” Marcus said quietly, closing the door behind him. “We traced the blue car.”
Matthew turned away from the glass window overlooking the city, his hands shoved deep into his trousers pockets. “Who was driving?”
“A stolen sedan registered to a local chop shop,” Marcus replied, opening the folder to reveal high-resolution surveillance photos. “The driver ran two red lights on Elm Street before striking Anne as she stepped off the curb near her bakery shift. But it wasn't an accident, Matthew.”
Matthew’s jaw tightened until a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Explain.”
“The vehicle was idling around the corner from Anne’s basement apartment for three hours prior to the crash,” Marcus revealed, pointing to a timestamped camera feed. “Two days ago, someone ran a background check on Anne Miller through a private investigation agency in Boston. The check was paid for by a shell company owned by your mother’s chief legal counsel.”
Matthew froze. The blood in his veins ran colder than the winter air outside.
Eleanor hadn't just discovered where Anne was—she had realized Sarah existed. Knowing that a legitimized grandchild would permanently alter the Sullivan family trust and strip her of her executive influence, Eleanor’s team had moved to eliminate the threat before Matthew ever found out.
“They didn't expect the little girl to carry her mother's story straight into the ER,” Marcus added, his voice heavy with respect for the tiny five-year-old sleeping nearby. “If Sarah hadn't walked up to Dr. Harrison with that box of toys, Anne would have been classified as an unidentified Jane Doe, and you would have left this hospital without ever knowing.”
Matthew walked back over to the couch, sinking down beside Sarah. He picked up her small, dirt-streaked hand, pressing it against his lips as a wave of fierce, unyielding protectiveness washed over him.
“Make sure the police have every shred of evidence, Marcus,” Matthew ordered softly, his voice colder than steel. “Ensure the driver and everyone who paid him spend the rest of their natural lives behind iron bars. No bail, no appeals.”
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“Understood, boss,” Marcus bowed his head. “And what about your mother?”
“Let her watch her world crumble from a holding cell,” Matthew said quietly. “My focus is right here.”
