Chapter 13 – Shadows in the Record
Chapter 13 – Shadows in the Record
Chapter 13 – Shadows in the Record
The next morning, Reyhan arrived at the office earlier than usual. The city was still wrapped in a pale dawn haze, the streets below half-empty as Jakarta slowly came alive. Inside the Azhari Group’s headquarters, the silence was almost heavy, the kind that invited focus—or obsession.
And Reyhan was obsessed.
The image of Nadira standing by the window last night, the faint tremor in her hand, and the way she deflected his question about Dr. Gunawan—those details had been replaying in his mind without pause. He was certain now: their connection wasn’t coincidental. But if Nadira wouldn’t tell him, he’d find out himself.
\---
By eight o’clock, his private investigator was on the line.
“I need a comprehensive background check,” Reyhan said, his tone clipped but calm. “Full history on Nadira Salma. Education, employment, family, orphanage records if applicable. I want everything. And cross-reference with any possible connections to Dr. Wiratma Gunawan.”
There was a short pause on the other end. “That might take a few days. Orphanage records aren’t easy to access—privacy laws.”
“I’m aware. That’s your problem, not mine,” Reyhan replied. “Start now.”
\---
When Nadira entered the office later that morning, she was her usual composed self—navy blouse, black skirt, hair neatly pulled back, glasses in place. She greeted him with a calm “Good morning, Mr. Azhari” before placing a folder of updated contracts on his desk.
If she noticed the way he studied her, she didn’t let it show.
“The new partnership proposal from the Singapore branch,” she explained, her tone brisk. “They’re pushing for an earlier signing date.”
Reyhan nodded, flipping through the documents, but part of his attention was elsewhere. She was speaking fluently, efficiently, as always, but her eyes never lingered on his for more than a second. It was subtle—most people wouldn’t notice—but to Reyhan, who’d built his career on reading people, it was telling.
She was hiding something.
\---
Around midday, Reyhan stepped out for a lunch meeting with the board, leaving Nadira to handle incoming correspondence. But instead of heading directly to the restaurant, he took a short detour to the company’s archival floor—restricted access, few employees.
With his clearance, it didn’t take long to locate a dusty file box marked with the Azhari Group’s historical charity sponsorships. Over the years, the company had funded several orphanages and educational programs. If his hunch was right, Nadira’s past might intersect with one of them.
It took half an hour of sifting through old reports before he found it: a thin annual summary from twelve years ago listing donations to “Panti Asuhan Cahaya Bunda.” The name tugged at a deep memory—an unlit hallway, the smell of old books, and a girl with round glasses offering him half her bread.
Reyhan’s hand tightened on the folder. Cahaya Bunda had closed eight years ago, replaced by a private facility. If Nadira had been there, she had never mentioned it.
\---
That evening, back in his penthouse, Reyhan sat with a glass of whiskey, staring at the city lights. The investigator had already sent him a preliminary report: Nadira Salma, born in Bandung, no surviving immediate family, moved to Jakarta at age fourteen, full scholarship for high school, then university. Nothing unusual—except the four-year gap in her documented childhood before she appeared in the education records.
Four years unaccounted for.
He closed the file. There was only one way to get answers faster—confront her directly. But if he pushed too soon, she might retreat even further.
\---
The next day, an unexpected opportunity presented itself.
At mid-morning, Nadira’s phone buzzed on her desk while she was in the copy room. Reyhan, walking past, saw the screen light up. The caller ID read: Cahaya Bunda Archives.
His pulse sharpened.
By the time she returned, he was already seated at his desk, eyes on his laptop, as though nothing had happened. Nadira picked up the phone, glancing briefly at him before answering in a low voice.
“Yes, this is Nadira Salma… Yes, I understand… No, I can’t come in person today… Next week, perhaps.”
Her tone was polite but taut, the kind of voice someone used when speaking about a matter they didn’t want overheard. When she hung up, she noticed Reyhan watching her.
“Personal matter,” she said quickly, before he could ask.
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied evenly, though the flicker in his eyes suggested otherwise.
\---
By late afternoon, Reyhan made a decision.
“Nadira,” he called as she was packing up. “Dinner tonight. My driver will take us.”
She hesitated. “Is this work-related?”
“You could call it that,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
\---
They ended up in a quiet, upscale restaurant overlooking the river. The low lighting cast soft shadows across her face, and Reyhan noticed—again—how the glasses framed her eyes almost exactly as they had in his memory.
For the first half of the meal, they spoke only about work—projects, deadlines, the Singapore branch. Then, as dessert arrived, Reyhan set his fork down and leaned forward.
“Panti Asuhan Cahaya Bunda,” he said quietly.
Her hand stilled halfway to her glass. For a moment, she didn’t move at all.
“Is that where you grew up?” he continued, his gaze locked on hers. “Because I think I’ve been there too. Twelve years ago.”
Nadira’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
“I remember a girl,” Reyhan went on, his voice softer now. “She wore glasses too big for her face. She read more than she talked. And one night, she gave me half her bread because I refused to eat. That girl…” His eyes narrowed. “Was it you?”
Her eyes glistened for just a second before she looked away. “You shouldn’t ask questions you’re not prepared to hear the answers to.”
“That sounds like a yes.”
“It’s complicated,” she whispered.
“Then uncomplicate it for me.”
Nadira’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. “I can’t. Not yet.”
Reyhan leaned back, frustration flickering across his face, but he didn’t push further. Not tonight. He had confirmed enough to know his instincts were right.
She was the girl from the orphanage.
And now, more than ever, he needed to know why she had hidden it from him.
To be continued....