Chapter 2 - The Shadows of Pinecrest
The rain had turned into a steady, cold downpour by the time Spencer stepped back into the high-ceilinged foyer of the Warren estate. Beside him, Charlee clutched her new blue teddy bear against her chest, her oversized sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floor. Mrs. Mabel was waiting near the grand staircase, a soft blanket draped over her arm, her eyes filled with quiet anxiety.
"Is he still sleeping?" Spencer asked, his voice low, almost afraid to disturb the eerie silence that seemed to have settled over the mansion.
"Like an angel, Mr. Spencer," Mrs. Mabel whispered, her gaze drifting toward the nursery wing she had spent the afternoon improvising. "Casey left about twenty minutes ago. She said the temporary custody papers are filed, but she’ll be back tomorrow with a social worker from the county."
Spencer nodded, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. His hand was still clenched tight around his phone. The words of both Dr. Pamela Ortiz and Casey kept repeating in his head like a dark rhythm. Jocelyn Cooper. A daughter born thirty years ago. An abandoned apartment building.
He looked down at Charlee. The little girl’s eyes were heavy, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion, but she refused to let go of the teddy bear or step more than a foot away from Spencer’s side.
"Mrs. Mabel," Spencer said, forcing a calm tone he didn't feel. "Please get Charlee into a warm bath and help her into some clean clothes. Then have cook prepare something warm for both of them."
"I don't want to go upstairs alone," Charlee said quickly, her voice small but firm. "What if someone comes back for Dexter?"
Spencer crouched down so he was at eye level with her. For a man who had built a multi-billion-dollar logistics empire by being ruthless, cold, and entirely unemotional, looking into this child's frightened face felt terrifyingly intimate.
"Nobody is going to touch Dexter," Spencer promised, placing a firm, steady hand on her small shoulder. "My security team is monitoring every inch of the perimeter. And I’m going to be right here."
Charlee stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. Finally, she gave a slow, reluctant nod and reached for Mrs. Mabel’s hand.
Once they disappeared down the hallway, Spencer walked straight into his private study, locked the heavy oak doors, and picked up his landline. He dialed a ten-digit private number he hadn't used in over three years.
"Arthur," Spencer said the moment the line connected. "I need you at the estate. Right now."
Arthur Vance was not just Spencer’s corporate attorney; he was a former federal investigator and the only man who knew every detail of the Warren family's dark financial history. Twenty minutes later, Arthur’s black sedan pulled into the estate’s circular driveway.
Inside the study, Arthur sat across from Spencer, nursing a glass of scotch while examining the blue blanket and the typed letter that had been taped to it.
"The handwriting is distinct," Arthur noted, adjusting his rimless glasses under the green reading lamp. "It's precise, slightly slanted to the left. It matches the handwriting on the estate deeds your late father signed before his stroke."
"My father died four years ago, Arthur," Spencer said, pacing behind his desk. "If this letter references my frozen genetic material from twelve years ago, only three people had access to those records: Pamela, my father's estate manager, and my late half-brother's trustee."
"And Pamela admitted to using the sample without authorization?" Arthur asked, his voice hardening.
"She claimed a woman named Jocelyn Cooper came to her clinic desperate for a child," Spencer replied. "Pamela claims she gave in to pressure and stole the sample. But Jocelyn Cooper isn't just some random patient, Arthur. She was the chief financial officer for Cooper Holdings—my main competitor until they filed for bankruptcy six months ago."
Arthur set his glass down with a heavy click. "If Jocelyn Cooper had your child, it wasn't an act of desperate motherhood. It was a corporate leverage move. A child born of your bloodline would have a legal claim to twenty-five percent of Warren Enterprises under your father's original trust agreement—regardless of your marital status or your current will."
"And if someone wanted to stop that claim from ever existing," Spencer said, his eyes narrowing into cold slits, "they would make sure the child disappeared before the birth was officially registered."
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Before Arthur could reply, a gentle knock sounded at the study door. Mrs. Mabel stepped inside, looking pale.
"Mr. Spencer," she said softly. "The hospital just called from Saint Jude’s. The elderly woman... Florence... she’s woken up. The doctors say she doesn't have much time, but she keeps calling for you."
