Chapter 2: A Wolf in Bespoke Wool

Maya grabbed Isabella’s forearm before she could reach the cubicle exit. "Are you insane? You don’t just get into a black sedan because a high-powered billionaire lawyer told you to. That is literally how people end up as cold cases on the morning news!"

"He knew about the folder, Maya," Isabella said, her voice tight as she tucked the black leather file deep into her leather satchel and zipped it shut. "He knew the exact minute I opened it. That means whoever dropped it off is either working with him, or Nathan Cole has eyes on this building."

"All the more reason to call security!"

"If I call security, this turns into an official report. If this turns into a report, Henderson sees it, the board sees it, and the story dies before I even know if it's true." Isabella squeezed Maya’s hand gently, trying to steady her own breathing. "I need to look him in the eye. I need to know why Richard Hayes waited twenty-six years to care that I exist."

"Text me every ten minutes," Maya demanded, her dark eyes fierce with worry. "If I don't hear from you by ten o'clock, I'm sending the entire city police department to Hayes Global headquarters."

"Deal."

Five minutes later, Isabella pushed through the heavy glass doors of *The Daily Chronicle* building and stepped into the biting Chicago night air. A steady, cold rain was falling, slicking the pavement of West Loop and reflecting the amber glow of the streetlights.

Parked at the curb near the corner of Randolph and Wells, hazard lights quietly blinking, was a matte-black Mercedes-Maybach with dark tinted windows.

Isabella stood under the awning for a long moment, her hand gripping the strap of her bag like a shield. Her instincts as an investigative reporter roared at her to turn back, to run the DNA sample through an independent lab herself, to verify every single variable. But the raw, aching wound of her mother's memory pulled her forward.

She walked up to the passenger side of the luxury vehicle. Before she could knock, the rear door glided open automatically.

"Get in out of the rain, Miss Reed," a voice called from the shadow of the interior. "You're soaking your coat."

Isabella braced herself and stepped into the vehicle, letting the door click heavily shut behind her. The interior smelled of expensive leather, cedarwood, and a faint trace of damp rain. The climate control enveloped her in subtle warmth, instantly sealing out the sound of the city traffic.

Sitting across from her on the hand-stitched leather seat was Nathan Cole.

Up close, he was even more imposing than his reputation suggested. He looked to be in his late twenties, possessing sharp, carved facial features, an immaculate jawline, and dark hair styled with precise discipline. He wore a charcoal-grey three-piece suit cut so cleanly it looked like armor. But it was his eyes that caught her off guard—a striking, storm-cloud grey that surveyed her with absolute, unreadable stillness.

"Miss Reed," Nathan said softly, sliding an iPad into his leather briefcase and snapping it shut. "I appreciate your promptness."

"I’m not here out of politeness, Mr. Cole," Isabella snapped, sitting rigid against the leather seat, refusing to lean back. "I’m here because your boss sent you like a glorified courier to deliver a life-altering bomb to my desk."

Nathan didn't flinch. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "I am Senior Managing Counsel for Hayes Global Enterprises. I don't run errands. But when Richard Hayes asks for something personally, I deliver."

"And what is this, exactly?" Isabella tapped her satchel. "A bribe? A distraction? Did your intelligence department realize I was closing in on the Apex Holdings real estate fraud, so you concocted a fake DNA report to throw me off the trail?"

Nathan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze locked onto hers with a intensity that made her pulse jump.

"If I wanted to stop your land acquisition story, Miss Reed, I wouldn't need a fake paternity test," Nathan said, his voice dropping an octave, smooth and dangerous. "I would file a federal injunction against your publisher, freeze your newsroom's legal budget, and have your credentials revoked before midnight. It would take me three phone calls."

Isabella’s jaw tightened. "Is that a threat?"

"It’s a demonstration of capability," he replied calmly. "I am telling you this so you understand the reality of your situation: the DNA report is real. The lab verification came directly from the State Institute. Richard Hayes is your father."

The raw certainty in his voice hit her like a physical blow. Isabella looked away, staring out the rain-streaked window as the Maybach glided smoothly onto the highway heading north toward Lake Forest.

"If it's real..." Isabella whispered, her defensive wall cracking just enough for her pain to leak through, "...then he’s a monster. My mother worked herself into an early grave. She worked three jobs, Mr. Cole. She couldn't afford her chemotherapy treatments until it was already stage four. Where was her billionaire lover then?"

Nathan’s expression softened marginally, though his professional composure remained intact. "That is a story only Richard can tell you. But I will tell you this: Richard did not know your mother was pregnant when she left Chicago twenty-six years ago. He believed she vanished because she didn't love him."

"And you expect me to believe a man who manages a twenty-billion-dollar empire couldn't find one woman in Illinois if he actually wanted to?" Isabella let out a bitter laugh. "Please."

"He was lied to," Nathan said quietly. "By people very close to him. People who had a vested interest in keeping Elena Reed away from the Hayes family legacy."

Isabella snapped her head back toward him. "Victoria."

Nathan didn't answer directly, but the sudden stillness in his posture spoke volumes. "Victoria Hayes is the daughter of the late Senator Sterling. When she married Richard thirty years ago, it was a merger of political power and corporate capital. When Elena entered the picture, it threatened that delicate balance."

"So Victoria got rid of her," Isabella breathed, her blood running cold.

"I am a lawyer, Miss Reed. I deal in proven facts, not unverified suspicions," Nathan said, though his grey eyes held a dark, knowing glint. "Which brings us to why you are in this car. Richard’s heart is failing. He was admitted to a private care facility three weeks ago. He has less than six months to live."

The heavy reality of his words hung in the air between them.

Isabella felt a sudden, suffocating wave of mixed emotions. She had hated Richard Hayes as a corporate villain for months; she had resented her unknown father for her entire life. Now, the two figures had merged into one dying man trapped in a web of his own making.

"Why bring me in now?" she asked softly. "If Victoria finds out..."

"If Victoria finds out, she will destroy you," Nathan finished her sentence without hesitation. "She controls forty percent of the board’s voting proxy through her family trust. Her son, Julian, is slated to take over as CEO at the next shareholder summit in two months. If a legitimate, elder bloodline heir appears—especially an investigative journalist who despises the company—Victoria will treat you as an existential threat."

"I don't want his money," Isabella said fiercely. "I don't want his corporate throne."

"It doesn't matter what you want," Nathan replied, leaning back and watching her closely. "Your mere existence threatens her family's empire. And Victoria Hayes does not leave loose ends."

The Maybach slowed down, turning off the main highway onto a secluded, tree-lined private drive. High stone walls loomed on either side, topped with security cameras and iron gates that glided open as the car approached.

In the distance, nestled among acres of dark, rain-soaked pines, stood the Hayes estate—a massive, imposing French provincial mansion lit by soft exterior spotlights. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress.

"We are entering through the private medical wing in the east wing," Nathan said, checking his watch. "You have twenty minutes before Victoria’s personal security detail does their night sweep of the grounds. Keep your voice down, ask your questions, and let Richard speak."

Isabella felt her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "And what about you, Mr. Cole? Whose side are you on in this war?"

Nathan looked at her for a long moment. For the first time, she saw something raw behind his polished, corporate mask—a fierce, quiet resolve that intrigued her far more than it should have.

"Richard Hayes gave me a scholarship when my father's firm went under," Nathan said softly. "He gave me a career, and he trusted me with his life. I am on the side of justice, Miss Reed. And right now, justice demands that you get the truth."

The car came to a smooth stop under a covered stone portico. Nathan stepped out first, holding a heavy black umbrella open over the door as he offered her his hand.

Isabella stared at his extended hand. He was corporate royalty; she was the girl from the West Side who fought for every scrap she ever had. Accepting his help felt like crossing a line she could never turn back from.

She took his hand. His grip was warm, strong, and surprisingly reassuring against the freezing night rain.

As she stepped out onto the cobblestones, the heavy oak doors of the east wing swung open. A butler in a dark suit stood in the doorway, his face pale and anxious.

"Mr. Cole," the butler whispered urgently, ignoring Isabella entirely. "You need to hurry. Mrs. Hayes returned from the charity committee early. Her car just pulled into the main gates."

Nathan’s grip on Isabella’s hand tightened slightly, his body instantly going rigid. He turned his sharp grey eyes back to Isabella, his voice dropping into a tense, authoritative command.

"Change of plans," Nathan said, pulling her quickly past the threshold into the dimly lit hallway. "She can't see you. If she catches you here tonight, this whole thing blows up before it even starts."

From the main grand foyer at the end of the hall, the sound of heavy footsteps and a woman’s sharp, commanding voice echoed through the marble corridors.

Victoria Hayes had arrived.