Chapter 4
His name was Elijah.
Melissa found that much within an hour.
Elijah Rivera.
Age ten.
Mother, Anna Rivera.
Last known address, a women’s shelter on the west side.
I stood by the window while my empire burned on television and my past returned in the shape of a hungry child.
Victor burst into my office.
“Uncle Richard, we need a statement.”
I turned.
He was polished.
Calm.
Too calm.
“Did you hide Anna’s letters?”
He blinked.
“What?”
“Answer me.”
His mouth tightened.
“She was unstable.”
“She warned us about safety failures.”
“She was angry over Miguel.”
“Miguel died in my factory.”
Victor stepped closer.
“An unfortunate accident.”
“Was it?”
His eyes sharpened.
“Careful.”
That word told me everything.
Not all.
Enough.
I called security.
Victor laughed.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“I made one ten years ago. I’m trying not to repeat it.”
I ordered him out.
Then I called my legal team and demanded every file on Miguel Rivera, Anna Rivera, and Factory Number One.
They stalled.
I fired two of them before lunch.
By afternoon, injured workers were confirmed.
Three critical.
One missing.
No deaths yet.
Yet.
That word became a blade.
I went to the shelter at dusk.
No cameras.
No entourage.
Only Melissa and one driver.
Anna was not there.
A staff woman recognized Elijah’s photo.
“He comes and goes,” she said. “His mother was here until last week.”
“Where is she?”
Her face closed.
“Why?”
I swallowed.
“Because I am her father.”
May you like
She looked me up and down.
“No,” she said. “You were.”
