Chapter 2 - The Whispers of a Ghost
The gala collapsed into chaos, but Eleanor paid no attention to the flashing press cameras or the confused gasps of her high-society peers.
Within five minutes, Eleanor had wrapped the little girl in her own velvet coat, ushered her into the back of her bulletproof limousine, and ordered her head of private security, Marcus Cole, to lock down the estate.
Inside the quiet sanctuary of the Vance Manor, high in the hills overlooking the city, warmth and security restored a fragment of peace. In the master sitting room, the manor’s longtime housekeeper, Martha, gently bathed the child, combed out her tangled dark curls, and dressed her in a clean cotton nightgown.
Eleanor sat on the edge of the plush sofa, watching the little girl hungrily finish a bowl of warm chicken soup.
"What is your name, sweetheart?" Eleanor asked, her voice softer than anyone in the corporate world had heard in twenty years.
"Maya," the child murmured, holding her spoon with both hands.
"Maya..." Eleanor repeated, testing the sweet sound on her tongue. "And your mother... where is she?"
Maya set her spoon down, her small face darkening with fear. "Mommy is in the dark place near the big water. Some bad men with guns came to our room three nights ago. Mommy locked me in the laundry chute and told me to run. She gave me the watch and told me to get on the red bus to the big hotel."
Marcus Cole stepped quietly into the room, holding an electronic tablet. He signaled to Eleanor, stepping out toward the hallway balcony. Eleanor stood up, kissed Maya’s forehead gently, and followed her security chief outside.
"Did the lab run the rapid cheek swab?" Eleanor asked urgently.
"Yes, ma'am," Marcus replied, his expression grave. "We ran Maya’s DNA against your registry profile from the family trust database. It’s an undeniable genetic match. She is your granddaughter. Ninety-nine point nine percent probability."
Eleanor staggered back half a step, leaning against the wooden railing for support. Tears finally spilled over her eyelashes, streaming down her face.
"Rose is alive," Eleanor sobbed, covering her face. "My baby girl didn't die in that clinic..."
"There's more, Mrs. Vance," Marcus warned, his voice turning cold. "We ran a background trace on the pocket watch’s serial number. That watch wasn't lost. It was listed in the evidence locker of the St. Jude Parish precinct after the 2006 clinic fire—the fire where Dr. Ethan Harrison officially declared your daughter deceased."
Eleanor pulled her hands away from her face, her tears drying into an icy, lethal focus. "Dr. Harrison lied to me. He forged the death certificate."
"And someone paid him handsomely to do it," Marcus added. "Maya said her mother was being held near 'the big water.' That matches the abandoned shipping district down at St. Jude’s Bay. If Rose is still alive down there, those men won't keep her alive for long once they realize Maya escaped."
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Eleanor turned back toward the room, looking at her granddaughter through the glass.
"Assemble the full security detail, Marcus," Eleanor commanded, her tone dropping into an absolute, dangerous decree. "We are going to St. Jude’s Bay tonight."
