Chapter 100: SHADY.

THANE'S POV:

She chewed her lip, glancing at her computer, then back at me. "I can't give you access to them. But I can let you see someone close to them and if he gives the go ahead, then you can schedule an appointment to see them."

"Thank you."

"No Promises, though."

She made a call, spoke in low tones I couldn't quite hear. Hung up and gestured toward the elevators. "Third floor. Suite 304. He'll give you fifteen minutes."

I took the elevator up, relaxing in preparation of whosoever I was going to meet.

Suite 304 was marked with another bronze plaque. EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR. I knocked.

"Come in."

The office was large, barely any window, expensive furniture that managed to look comfortable instead of pretentious. Bookshelves.

The man behind the desk didn't stand. Just watched me enter with eyes that assessed and dismissed in the same glance.

Mr. Adeyemi was maybe fifty. Short, I could tell even with him sitting with  how he straightened himself so he was able to tower a little above the high desk. His shoulders strained his suit. Bald head. Wire-rimmed glasses. Expensive watch, subtle cologne, wedding ring that caught light when he steepled his fingers.

"Mr. Slade." His accent was slight. American educated but African rooted. "Jessica said you needed to speak with someone about something important."

I watched him closely. Something about him didn’t fit the warm, altruistic picture the posters on the wall promised. The wall behind his office glass was lined with framed appreciations from politicians and donors, polished PR waiting for the right angle.

"Yes. Thank you for seeing me." I sat without being invited. "I'll be direct. I’m here about the Alades,” I said, letting the name land.

"What about them?"

"I need to see them.”

He smiled in that carefully neutral way you use when you mean to decline. “Impossible.”

I pulled up Madison's photo on my phone. Held it out. "It's in connection with this woman."

Adeyemi's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture. Stiffened. "I don't understand."

"Her name is Madison Wallace. She's twenty-three years old. Adopted from Zambara, Nugeria. Found on an orphanage doorstep wrapped in a blanket with this—" I showed him a photo of the necklace. "—and no other information. No records. No birth certificate. Nothing."

"I'm sorry for her situation, but what does this have to do with—"

"She looks exactly like Mrs. Alade." I leaned forward. "Same features. Same mannerisms."

Adeyemi's jaw twitched.. "The President and First Lady never had a child."

"Then why does Madison look like she could be their daughter? Why does she have a necklace that matches traditional Azuvian royal insignia?"

"Royal—" He stopped himself. Reset. "Mr. Slade, I understand you're concerned about your friend. But I can't help you. The President and First never had a child. This is—" He waved dismissively. "—nonsense."

But his eyes told a different story. Nervous. Calculating. Afraid.

"I'm not here to cause problems," I said carefully.

Adeyemi's smile thinned. “Sir, we have a schedule. Donors are coming in for a briefing. This is a  humanitarian organization. Our mandate is to serve people. We don’t facilitate private investigations.”

“You don’t understand,” I said, standing and stepping closer. My presence surprised me. The muscles in my neck humming with that old ice-quiet intensity. "I'm marrying Madison in three months. I want to give her answers about where she came from. That's all. Just truth."

"The truth is that you're wasting my time with conspiracy theories." Adeyemi stood, moving toward the door. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

“You can’t just—” I began, staying seated.

He gestured subtly toward the door as if hinting I was making a scene.

I inhaled, holding myself. Standing, I walked towards him, towering over him. I felt the air compress like the moments before a power play on the ice, when you know something is about to explode.

I held  Adeyemi's gaze a little longer than I should have, searching for that micro-flinch again, for any crack in his smooth armor. My heartbeat slowed when I realized what I was looking for: confirmation that I was right, some proof that the video couple belonged to Madison, not just as a random resemblance but as a line leading back to her past. I needed that thread.

Suddenly, two  security guards filled the frame. Large, professional, hands resting casually near their belts where I'd bet weapons were holstered.

"Mr. Slade is just leaving," Adeyemi said smoothly. "Please escort him out of the building. And make a note, he's not welcome to return."

The guards moved in, one on each side.

"Thank you for your time," I told Adeyemi. "I'm going to find out the truth."

"There's no truth to find." But sweat had appeared on his forehead. "You're chasing shadows."

Part of me wanted to let it go, walk out, go home to Madison, pretend the past didn’t matter. But pretending was what had broken me before. Not this time.

The guards gripped my arms, not rough but firm and guided me toward the elevator.

I looked back once. Adeyemi stood in his office doorway, phone already to his ear, speaking rapidly in a language I didn't recognize.

Reporting to someone. Warning someone.

Who could it be?

The elevator doors closed, cutting off my view.

"Sir, we're going to need you to leave the premises," the guard on my left said. Not unkind. Just doing his job.

"I'm going." I shook off their hands. "I can walk myself out."

I was staying calm, controlled and strategic.

They followed anyway. Through the lobby, Jessica  ducked her head, avoiding eye contact. I walked out to the sidewalk where Seattle rain had started falling in that persistent Northwest way.

Somewhere above those clouds, someone already knew someone would come looking. And they weren’t happy about it.

There was more here and I was going to dig it out for Madison.