LOGINEnglish TranslationLucas’s message arrived the following evening.[Message | Lucas ]: Senior, I’ve got the details. Olivia Vickers, now going by Olivia Miller. She was adopted back in 2018 by a Brooklyn couple: John and Patricia Miller. John works as a construction labourer, and Patricia is a supermarket cashier. They also have a biological son four years older than her.I scrolled down.[Message | Lucas ]: One more thing. Olivia’s in the third grade at PS32 Elementary School. Same class as Daniel Rich.I read that final line three times over.Same class.Daniel’s class has more than twenty kids. I’d sat through two parent-teacher conferences and seen all their faces, yet never paid special attention to any of them. Olivia Vickers—Olivia Miller—had been among those faces all along. She might have stood beside Daniel, lined up with him for lunch, sung him happy birthday on his birthday.And I’d known nothing about her.[Message | Lucas (Underclassman)]: Here’s the address: 1427 Vernon
The files on the USB drive are far more numerous than I’d anticipated.I sit in my office, the glow from my laptop screen spilling across my face, casting a pale, gaunt silhouette. Night has fallen outside, and I’ve forgotten to turn on the lights. The bagel Lucas dropped off still rests on the edge of my desk, its plastic wrapper gaping open, the bread inside dried rock-hard.The fund transaction records for Aegis Holdings make up only the first folder. The second bears a plain title: Northwood Archive.I click to open it.It holds scanned documents: vintage photographs, police reports, medical files, clippings from old newspapers. The earliest records date back fifteen years.The first file is an autopsy report for a teenage girl named Margaret Chan. Cause of death: drowning. Location: Northwood Hotel swimming pool. Date: August 2009.The official ruling: accidental death.Yet tucked in the attachments is a photograph. A ring of bruising encircles Margaret’s neck, half concealed by
I sank into the office’s leather swivel chair, clutching the stack of Aegis documents Lucas had left behind. The frayed paper edges dug uncomfortably into my palms. I stared at the name “R. Hynes” for a long moment until the letters blurred into shapeless dark smudges before my eyes.The phone’s shrill ring cut awkwardly through the stillness of the office.I picked up without uttering a word.“Jenny.” Alexander’s voice crackled over the receiver, dry and graveled from a sleepless night. “The boy’s awake. He’s asking for you.”My grip on the documents tightened. “He said he didn’t want to see me last night. Taking him back now is exactly what he wants, isn’t it?”Silence hung on the line. I heard the scratch of a lighter’s flint wheel, followed by a long exhale of smoke.“He’s crying,” Alexander said, falling back into his usual unyielding calm. “He sobbed the entire ride in the car. He’s only four years old, Jenny. Are you really going to hold a distraught child to words spoken in an
"I reviewed the acquisition agreement for Sunlit Legal last night—Jenny, a direct confrontation won't work. That nominee agreement was written too neatly; Alexander's lawyers aren't pushovers." Rita's voice came through the receiver."I know." I held the phone between my shoulder and arm, freeing my hand to hail a taxi. "So I'm not planning on a direct confrontation.""What's the meaning?""The money he used to acquire Sunlit Legal went through an offshore company called 'Aegis Holdings.'" I gave them Sunlit Legal's address, and the taxi merged into traffic. The wipers swished the windshield slowly. "I checked; Aegis is registered in the Cayman Islands, and the legal representative is a man named Marcus Winter.""Then what?""Marcus Winter is the Hines family's private accountant."There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.You mean—"The money Alexander used to buy Sunlit Legal may not have been Richie Group's own funds at all. It might have been Hines's money."Ri
The automatic door at the end of the corridor clicked open, letting in a rush of cold air.I lifted my head from the chair.My neck ached terribly. My spine felt rusted from sitting against the wall all night.The paper cup of coffee in my hand was long cold, a dark brown stain clinging to the inside.Alexander walked in.Behind him were two people — a female lawyer in her forties carrying a dark brown folder, and a uniformed bailiff.He had changed his clothes.He wore a dark gray overcoat, with his hair neatly combed and his face cleanly shaved.The disheveled look he’d had outside the villa last night was completely gone.He was once again the poised, imposing Alexander Richie from the covers of business magazines.I stood up.My knee clicked softly.“Daniel’s inside,” I spoke first.Alexander did not glance at me.He walked straight toward Daniel’s ward door.The female lawyer stepped forward at once, blocking his path and separating me from him.“Ms. Walsh.”She pulled a document
The clinic's heating was on too high.The air was dry. A strong smell of disinfectant filled my nose, mixed with a faint sharp scent drifting in from outdoors.I sat on the hard plastic chair beside the bed. It felt like ages passed before my legs went numb.Daniel stirred and rolled over.His eyelashes fluttered, and his lips moved, as if he was chewing something in his sleep. Soon, he opened his eyes.His eyes were identical to mine. Almond-shaped with dark pupils, resembling smooth glass marbles under warm yellow light.He stared blankly at the ceiling, still half-asleep. His fingers unconsciously clutched the white sheet underneath."Daniel," I called softly.He turned his head toward me. At first, he blinked in confused daze, his mouth slightly parted.All of a sudden, his body tensed sharply







