Chapter 45 up
“This is no longer just a hunch, Clark.”
Vincent placed a thick brown folder on the desk. His voice was calm, but his gaze was sharp, as if every sheet of paper inside carried a truth that had long been forcibly buried. Clark stood on the other side of the desk, his fists clenched. He stared at the folder as though it were a sentence being handed down.
“What’s in it?” Clark asked, his voice flat—too flat for a man whose heart was in turmoil.
Vincent opened the folder slowly. “Transaction records. Three large transfers within the last two weeks. The sender—shell company accounts. The recipients… the same people.”
He slid several printed pages toward Clark. Names surfaced. Numbers lined up neatly. Clark swallowed hard. “These people… I’ve seen them before.”
“Hired hands,” Vincent continued. “They’re often used for dirty work. And there’s one more thing.”
Vincent pulled out his phone and played an audio recording. A man’s voice came through, nervous and fragmented.
“…we were only told to guard her. The woman wasn’t allowed to die. They said… said it was only temporary…”
Clark closed his eyes. The word woman echoed, cutting deep. “Nyla,” he murmured.
Vincent stopped the recording. “There’s a witness. A hired driver who saw a black car pick up a woman that night. He remembers the details. A fallen bag. A shattered phone.”
Clark rubbed his face roughly. Guilt surged, crushing his chest until it was hard to breathe. “I should have—”
“No,” Vincent cut in firmly. “What matters now is moving. Finding her. And stopping whoever did this.”
Clark nodded. Something hardened inside him—a resolve forged from regret. “I’ll confront Selena.”
Vincent studied him for a long moment. “With a cool head.”
Clark gave a bitter smile. “I’ve been using my heart for far too long.”
Selena was standing in front of the mirror when Clark walked in. She offered a faint smile—the kind that had always managed to soften him before. “You’re home early.”
Clark didn’t respond. He closed the door quietly and stood a few steps away from her. The distance felt like a chasm.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Selena turned, her brows knitting slightly. “About what?”
“Money,” Clark replied coldly. “About the people you paid.”
Her expression changed—just for a split second, but it was enough. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Clark pulled out his phone and showed her the transaction copies. “Three large transfers. These names aren’t unfamiliar to you, are they?”
Selena let out a small laugh—too quick, too sharp. “You’re accusing me? At a time like this? I’m pregnant, Clark.”
That tone. That excuse. Clark felt an old crack reopen—but this time, he didn’t fall into it. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t use that again.”
Selena stepped closer, her voice rising. “You’ve changed. Ever since that woman left, you’ve changed!”
“She didn’t leave,” Clark replied. “She disappeared.”
Silence fell like a hammer. Selena stiffened. “I told you—I don’t know anything!”
Clark took one step forward. “There’s a witness. There’s a recording. There’s money. And there’s one order that stays the same: she wasn’t allowed to die.”
Selena froze. Then her anger exploded. “Stop it! You’re insane! Vincent has poisoned your mind! He wants to destroy us!”
“Us?” Clark let out a humorless laugh. “Or you?”
Selena shoved his chest. “How dare you accuse me?!”
Clark restrained himself. His jaw tightened. “I dare because I have to.”
Selena turned, grabbed a small vase, and hurled it at the wall. It shattered, fragments scattering everywhere. “Get out! Get out of my life if you don’t trust me!”
Clark didn’t move. “I’m going to find Nyla.”
Selena laughed hysterically. “And what if you don’t?”
Clark looked at her, his gaze cold. “Then I’ll make sure the person who did this pays.”
Across the city, Vincent stood before a large screen. Traffic camera footage played on repeat. A black car. A partial license plate. The same hour.
“Play it again,” he said.
His assistant nodded. “This route is rarely used. There’s an old warehouse on the outskirts.”
Vincent pointed at the map. “Here. It’s often used as a transit point.”
“Should we report this to the police now?”
Vincent exhaled slowly. “Immediately. But we also have to move fast. Every hour matters.”
He sent a short message to Clark: We have a possible location.
Clark received it outside the house. The night felt colder. He looked up at the sky, then typed a reply: I’m coming.
Inside the house, Selena was spiraling. With trembling hands, she dialed a number. “Move her,” she hissed. “Now.”
The voice on the other end hesitated. “The risk—”
“Do it!” Selena ended the call, her breath ragged. She clutched her stomach, her eyes wild. “I won’t lose,” she whispered.
The warehouse stood in silence, its lights dead. Vincent and Clark arrived in two cars. The wind carried the scent of rust and dust. Clark stepped forward slowly, each step weighed down by fear and hope.
“Inside,” Vincent said.
They found tire marks. Footprints. A cut rope. Clark dropped to his knees, touching the floor.
“She was here,” he said, his voice trembling.