Chapter 230: A News

Jasmine's POV

Marcus was not alone. Richard was with him, both men standing over a stack of papers spread across the desk. They looked up as I entered, their expressions grave.

"What's going on?" I asked.

Marcus gestured for me to sit. "We've received some... concerning information."

"About Louis?" My heart leapt, then immediately plummeted as I registered their expressions. If they'd found evidence of Louis, surely they wouldn't look so grim.

"Not directly," Richard said, passing me a folder. "It's about Alan Blackwood."

I opened the folder, confused. Inside were photographs of a man who vaguely resembled Alan, though his hair was different and he wore glasses. The photos appeared to have been taken with a long-range lens—the man walking down a street, sitting at a café, entering an apartment building.

"I don't understand," I said, looking up. "Alan's dead."

Marcus and Richard exchanged glances.

"We thought so," Marcus said carefully. "The body found in Rome matched his general description, but it was... significantly damaged. The identification was made primarily through personal effects found with the body and hotel records."

A cold feeling began to spread through my chest. "Are you saying it wasn't him? That Alan is still alive?"

Richard leaned forward. "These photos were taken in Prague two weeks ago. One of our contacts recognized him, despite the changes in appearance."

I stared at the images, my mind racing. If Alan was alive, if he had faked his death somehow...

"Could it be a mistake?" I asked, clinging to rationality. "A lookalike? A relative?"

"We considered that," Marcus acknowledged. "That's why we've spent the past two weeks verifying before bringing this to you. There were always inconsistencies in the Rome investigation—the body was never officially identified through DNA or dental records."

"We believe Alan killed someone else," Richard said flatly. "Staged it to look like his own death, then disappeared."

The implications were staggering. If Alan had survived, had been living freely all this time, while we grieved Louis...

"So he's out there," I said, my voice hardening. "The man who killed Louis is walking around free."

"We don't know that Louis is dead," Richard said sharply. "We've never found his body."

The spark of hope that flared in my chest was painful, dangerous. I'd spent years learning to live with the certainty of Louis's death. To question that now, to allow myself to hope again...

"Richard," I said gently, "it's been four years. If Louis had survived somehow, he would have found a way back to us. To Grace."

Richard didn't argue. The same logic had convinced all of us, eventually, to accept the reality of Louis's death.

"The question now," Marcus continued, "is what to do about Alan. If it is him, he's clearly gone to great lengths to disappear. He may believe himself safe."

"We find him," I said immediately, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. "We make him pay for what he did to Louis."

The men exchanged another glance, and I realized they'd expected this reaction.

"It's not that simple," Marcus said carefully. "If we move against him, we alert him to the fact that we know he's alive. He could disappear again."

"So what's the alternative? We let him go? After what he did to Louis? To our family?" My voice rose with each question.

"No," Richard said firmly. "We watch. We gather information. We find out where he's been, who he's connected to. And when the time is right, when we're absolutely certain it's him and we know his every move, then we act."

I wanted to argue, to demand immediate action. But I recognized the wisdom in Richard's approach. Alan had eluded us once. We couldn't risk losing him again.

"How long?" I asked.

"As long as it takes," Marcus replied. "Days, weeks, months if necessary. We'll have people on him around the clock."

I nodded slowly, the shock giving way to a cold, focused anger. "I want to be involved. Every step of the way."

"Jasmine—" Marcus began, his tone cautious.

"This isn't negotiable," I cut him off. "He took my husband from me. He took Grace's father. I deserve to be part of this."

Richard's expression was unreadable as he studied me. Then, to my surprise, he nodded. "She's right, Marcus. Jasmine has earned the right to see this through."

Marcus sighed, clearly outvoted. "Fine. But you follow our lead, and you stay safe. For Grace's sake."

I agreed, though my mind was already racing ahead. After four years of acceptance, of learning to live with loss, the possibility of justice—of answers—was intoxicating.

That night, after tucking Grace into bed at the Russo mansion, where we'd decided to stay for security, I stood at the window of my old bedroom, looking out at the lights of the city.

"If he's alive, if he's been out there all this time..." I whispered into the darkness. "I'll find him, Louis. I'll make him pay for taking you from us."

For the first time in years, I felt something stir beneath the grief—a fierce determination, a hunger for answers, for justice. Whatever it took, however long it took, I would see this through.

For Louis. For Grace. For myself.