Chapter 3 - The Search for Emma
By nightfall, the boys had finally exhausted themselves, falling asleep side by side on my massive white linen sofa, wrapped in an oversized cashmere throw blanket that looked absurdly out of place over their tiny bodies.
I sat at my glass kitchen island, the glow of my laptop screen illuminating the dark penthouse.
I had deployed my most trusted private investigator, Marcus Vance—a former federal agent with a network that stretched across every precinct and municipal database in the tri-state area.
My phone buzzed on the granite counter. I swiped it instantly.
"Talk to me, Marcus," I said, my voice tense.
"It wasn't easy, Jason," Marcus's gravelly voice came through the speaker. "Names like Emma Vance—excuse me, Emma Miller, though it looks like she never legally changed her last name—don't pop up easily when someone's actively trying to keep a low profile. But I traced her last known address. A basement apartment on 31st Street in Astoria."
I stood up, pacing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson River. "Did you find her?"
"No," Marcus said grimly. "When my team got there, the apartment was empty. Not just empty—abandoned in a hurry. Clothes still hanging in the closet, dishes in the sink, but no sign of Emma. The neighbors said they saw men in dark suits asking questions three days ago."
My blood ran cold. "Men in suits? What kind of suits?"
"Not landlords. Not cops," Marcus replied. "Debt collectors, or worse. Jason... Emma was hiding. According to local utility records, her rent hadn't been paid in four months, and her bank account was completely wiped out. She was running out of time, and she was running out of money."
"Why didn't she call me?" I demanded, the anger bubbling up, though I wasn't sure if I was angry at her or myself. "She knew where I was! She knew I ran Meridian Capital!"
"Pride, maybe?" Marcus suggested. "Or maybe because when you walked out five years ago, you made it pretty clear that your worlds didn't mix. Remember? Your old man threatened to cut you off entirely if you married a waitress from Queens. You chose the boardroom, Jason."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
You chose the boardroom.
I hung up without saying goodbye.
I walked slowly back to the living room and looked down at Liam and Lucas sleeping peacefully. They looked so fragile, so entirely defenseless against a world that had clearly been crushing their mother for years while I sat in my glass tower counting millions.
If Emma was running from someone... if she had been cornered...
I clenched my fists. I had spent my entire life believing that money was the ultimate power, that control was the only shield against pain. But right now, standing in a multi-million-dollar penthouse with two motherless boys and a ghost from my past, I felt entirely powerless.
Then my phone buzzed again. An unknown number.
I answered on the first ring. "Hello?"
"Mr. Miller?" A strained, unfamiliar voice spoke on the line. It sounded like an older woman, whispering frantically as if trying not to be overheard. "Are you the father of the twins?"
"Yes," I snapped, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Who is this? Where is Emma?"
"I'm Mrs. Gable, the landlord from the Astoria building," she whispered. "Emma didn't want to tell you. She was too proud. But... before she disappeared three nights ago, she left something with me. She said if she didn't come back by Friday, and if her boys somehow reached you... I should give this to you."
May you like
"What is it?"
"It's a storage locker key," Mrs. Gable said. "And an address in Long Island City. She said... she said it contains the truth about why she had to run."
