Chapter 4 - The Investigation
Finding Isabella Hayes and a nine-year-old boy in the United States without a digital footprint in Chicago was like searching for a needle in a continent-sized haystack.
For three days, Damian turned his intelligence network upside down. He deployed investigators, hacked state databases, monitored social security number activations, and traced old bank routing numbers from the day Isabella had left her apartment in Pilsen.
The trail went cold in Columbus, Ohio, where Isabella had briefly lived in 2018 before vanishing entirely from public records. She had paid rent in cash, worked under a cooperative local network, and kept Eli out of private schools where background checks were mandatory.
It wasn't until Damian brought in Colton Briggs—the retired lawyer who had helped cover up the initial fallout—that a breakthrough occurred.
“She didn't use credit cards, Damian, because she knew you’d be watching the financial feeds,” Briggs explained, laying a map of Pennsylvania across the mahogany desk in Damian’s private study. He pointed a finger at a small dot in the rolling hills of the Alleghenies. “But people with young children have to interact with local healthcare systems eventually. In twenty-twenty-one, a child named Eli Hayes received a routine dental procedure at a regional clinic in Clarion County, Pennsylvania. The insurance claim was filed through a small non-profit community center in a town called Harrow Falls.”
Damian leaned over the map, his dark eyes fixing on the small red circle. Harrow Falls.
“Is she still there?” Damian asked, his voice tight with an urgency that terrified even him.
“According to the local tax assessor’s database, a property on Caldwell Street was purchased three years ago by a trust managed through an intermediary in Ohio,” Briggs said, sliding a photograph across the desk. “The woman living there goes by Isabella Hayes. And the boy... well, take a look for yourself.”
Damian picked up the 4x6 photograph.
It had clearly been taken with a long-lens camera from across the street. It showed a modest, two-story house with green shutters and a massive maple tree in the front yard. A woman with dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail was walking up the front steps, carrying a bag of groceries.
And standing beside her, holding a blue backpack and chattering animatedly, was a boy of about nine years old.
Damian’s breath caught in his throat.
The boy had his nose. He had his jawline. He had the exact same intense, observant tilt of the head that Damian saw every time he looked in the mirror.
“Eli,” Damian whispered, tracing the edge of the photograph with a trembling thumb.
“What’s your next move, boss?” Briggs asked cautiously. “Are you going to send a team? Bring them back to Chicago?”
May you like
Damian looked up from the photograph, his expression hardening into something dangerous and absolute.
“No teams,” Damian said coldly. “I’m going myself.”
