Transferred.
Not deceased. Not listed as lost. Transferred.
My breath caught so sharply it hurt.
“Where?” I demanded.
Gregory shook his head. “That’s where the trail ends. There was a sealed medical transfer to a neonatal facility, but the destination was redacted. I tried—”
“You tried?”
“I got scared.”
I looked up slowly.
He flinched before I moved.
“Scared of whom?”
Gregory glanced down at the papers. “Claire wasn’t acting alone.”
The room settled into a deeper silence.
Outside the window, the last light of day stretched long and gold across the parking lot. Cars passed in the distance, ordinary people going home to ordinary evenings, unaware that mine had been split open.
“Who helped her?” I asked.
“I don’t have a name. But there were calls from your corporate legal office around the same time. Not official filings. Private calls.”
My first instinct was to reject it. My company was my pride, my inheritance, my work. Bellamy Holdings had been built by my grandfather and saved from collapse by my father. I had spent fifteen years turning it into something stronger. My offices were filled with people whose children I knew by name, people who had stood beside me through recessions, acquisitions, courtroom battles, and grief.
