Chapter 4 - The Ghost of the Past
I managed to slip out through the alley entrance behind my apartment building just as a sleek black sedan pulled up to the front curb. Two men in dark suits stepped out, eyeing the lobby doors with cold precision. Harold wasn't messing around; he had sent corporate security to scrub my apartment.
Shaking and exhausted, I flagged down a taxi and gave the driver an address in downtown Chicago—the office of Marcus Sterling, a legal advocate and private investigator whose name I had saved months ago when researching corporate fraud cases for my entry-level research job.
Marcus’s office was located in a weathered brick building in the Loop. When I stumbled into his dimly lit office, blood seeping slightly through my bandages and clutching my canvas bag, he immediately stood up from behind his oak desk.
"Miss Pierce?" Marcus asked, rushing around to support me. "You look like you just survived a war zone."
"I... I need help," I stammered, sinking into a chair. "And I don't know who else to go to."
Over the next hour, between sips of warm tea, I laid everything out on his desk: the ledger, the pocket watch, Arthur Vance's letter, and the chilling phone call from Harold.
Marcus, a sharp man in his early fortities with piercing grey eyes and a calm demeanor, carefully flipped through the leather ledger. His expression shifted from professional curiosity to utter astonishment.
"Lauren," Marcus said, pointing to a series of land deeds from twenty-five years ago. "This isn't just family drama. This is massive corporate theft and fraud. According to these records, Daniel Vance—your biological father—was the original founder of Vance Tech, the company Harold rebranded as Pierce Enterprises after Daniel's sudden death in 1999."
"He stole the company?"
"He didn't just steal the company," Marcus said softly, looking up at me. "He forged Daniel's signature on a transfer of power agreement three days after Daniel died in an unexplained hit-and-run accident. And there's more... Arthur Vance has been quietly buying back shares under a proxy firm for the last decade."
"Arthur said my brother David didn't die," I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes. "Is that true?"
Marcus picked up his phone and began typing quickly on his terminal. "If David found out that Harold murdered his true father's legacy—or worse, had a hand in Daniel's death—he would have been a direct threat to Harold. Give me thirty minutes. I have a contact in the state vital records bureau."
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While Marcus worked, I held the silver pocket watch. I popped open the back casing. Inside, tucked behind the delicate gears, was a tiny, faded photograph of a smiling young man holding a baby girl.
The man had my dark hair and my light green eyes. For the first time in my life, looking at that photo, I didn't feel like an outsider looking in. I was looking at my true father.
