No One Helped the 8-Year-Old Girl Selling Candy With Her Baby Sister Tied to Her Back—Until a CEO Saw Her Broken Arm, Bought Every Bag, and Heard Her Whisper, “The Woman in That Van Takes Babies Away.”...

The fallout from the closure of Bright Harbor Family Mission hit the front page of every major newspaper in the Midwest by Wednesday morning.

CHURCH CHARITY EXPOSED AS HUMAN TRAFFICKING FRONT: BILLIONAIRE CEO LEADS FEDERAL RAID.

In the executive boardroom of Holloway Urban Systems on the fortieth floor of the Loop tower, twelve board members sat in stunned silence as Victoria Vance clicked through a PowerPoint presentation detailing the syndicate’s financial operations.

"The assets seized from Bright Harbor and its offshore subsidiaries total nearly forty-five million dollars," Victoria announced, adjusting her glasses. "Per Mr. Holloway’s instructions, those funds are being placed directly into a newly established trust: The Bennett-DeLuca Foundation, dedicated to providing lifelong housing, education, and medical care for displaced children."

A murmur of approval rippled through the boardroom.

At the head of the table sat Grant. His expression was impassive, but his fingers tapped a slow, rhythmic beat against the mahogany surface.

"What about the political fallout, Victoria?" asked Thomas Sterling, the senior vice-president of public relations. "Judge Harrison’s office is claiming they had no knowledge of Bright Harbor’s illicit activities. But federal investigators have already subpoenaed her bank records."

"Judge Harrison resigned an hour ago," Victoria replied smoothly. "She’s currently cooperating with the U.S. Attorney General in exchange for a reduced sentence. The entire network of state-level protection is collapsing like a house of cards."

"Good," Grant said, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. "I want a complete audit of every charitable organization we’ve ever donated to. If a single dime of Holloway capital has ever touched a syndicate-fronted account in the last ten years, I want to know about it by the end of the day."

"Right away, Grant," Victoria said, closing her leather binder.

As the board meeting adjourned and the executives filed out of the room, Grant remained seated, staring out the floor-to-ceiling glass windows at the frozen skyline of Chicago.

His phone buzzed on the table.

It was a text message from Mrs. Gable—the former DeLuca estate manager who had recently joined Grant’s personal household staff to oversee Maya and Ellie’s daily care.

“Miss Maya ate a full breakfast of pancakes and berries this morning. She’s currently in the conservatory drawing pictures of sailboats. She asked when you’ll be home.”

A rare, genuine smile touched the corners of Grant’s mouth.