Chapter 3 - The Cold Trail
Desmond Cole arrived at the Whitfield Harbor building less than thirty minutes after Renee’s call. A retired detective from the Seattle Police Department’s Missing Persons Unit, Desmond didn't look like a billionaire's fixer. He wore a rumpled tweed coat, smelled faintly of pipe tobacco and peppermint, and carried his notes in a battered leather journal held together by a rubber band.
"Marcus," Desmond said, nodding toward the child sleeping on the office sofa, wrapped in a plush cashmere throw Renee had fetched from the executive suite. "Renee gave me the short version on the drive over. You're swimming in deep waters here."
"Tell me about Haven Bridge, Desmond," Marcus demanded, pouring two cups of black coffee from the executive carafe. "My attorney treated the name like a radioactive isotope. The director looked like she wanted to liquidate me."
Desmond took a slow sip of his coffee, his sharp gray eyes watching the sleeping girl. "On paper, Haven Bridge is a high-end, private-placement charity funded by some of the most influential families in the Pacific Northwest. They take in children whose parents are incapacitated, deceased, or tied up in legal battles. They specialize in 'disreet transitions.' No public foster records, no state-run group homes. It's supposed to be a boutique sanctuary for kids from good backgrounds who fall through the cracks."
"And off paper?"
Desmond leaned in, his voice dropping. "Off paper, it's a clearinghouse for high-value adoptions. Rich couples from Europe and Asia who don't want to wait five years on a state registry pay millions in 'charitable donations' to Haven Bridge. The kids who don't have anyone looking for them—kids whose mothers die in low-income hospitals without family fortunes—disappear into families across the globe. No paper trail. No registry."
Marcus’s fist clenched around his coffee mug until his knuckles turned white. "Iris died in a hospital. They took her children because they thought no one was looking for them."
"Exactly," Desmond said. "And if the boy, Milo, really did run away three days ago, Haven Bridge can't report it to the police. If the police start digging into a missing five-year-old from their facility, the whole shell game collapses. They’ve likely got their own private security out on the streets looking for him right now. If they find him before we do..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence.
"Where would a five-year-old boy go?" Marcus asked, his mind racing, trying to reconstruct the geography of a child’s world. "Wren said he went to find their mother. Where did they live before Haven Bridge?"
Desmond pulled his notebook from his pocket, snapping the rubber band. "I did some quick digital searching before I walked in. Iris Callahan’s last registered address was a small rental cottage in Ballard, near the locks. Yellow door. The lease was terminated four months ago after her passing. The property has been vacant since. It's currently owned by a holding company under the name Voss & Associates."
Marcus froze, his coffee mug hovering inches from his lips. "Voss & Associates? As in Adrian Voss?"
Desmond looked at Marcus, his expression grim. "Your chief legal counsel has been on the board of trustees for Haven Bridge since 2019, Marcus. He’s the one who handles their corporate restructuring and international asset protection."
The betrayal hit Marcus like an physical impact. Adrian hadn't just been his lawyer; he had been the man who stood beside him during his darkest hours, the man who had comforted him when Iris left. Adrian knew how much Marcus regretted letting her go. And yet, when Iris died and her children were swept into a predatory adoption ring, Adrian had signed the paperwork.
"He kept them from me," Marcus whispered, a terrifying stillness settling over him. "He knew who they were. He knew they were mine."
"We can't confront Adrian yet," Desmond warned, placing a heavy hand on Marcus’s shoulder. "The moment he knows we've connected him to the Ballard property, he'll scrub the database and move Milo out of reach—if Haven Bridge already has him. We need to check that house first. If the boy ran away to find his mother, he wouldn't go to a hospital. He'd go home."
Marcus walked over to the sofa, looking down at Wren. She was breathing softly, her small hand still clutching the plastic bracelet. He turned to Renee, who was waiting quietly by the door.
"Renee, I need you to stay with her. Take her to my private residence in Madison Park. Use the secure garage. Don't let anyone know she’s there except my personal security detail. If Adrian or anyone from Haven Bridge shows up, call the police immediately."
May you like
Renee nodded, her jaw set. "She’ll be safe with me, Marcus. Go find her brother."
Marcus grabbed his coat, his eyes burning with a dark, unyielding fire. For seven years, he had fought for market share, for control of companies that didn't matter. Now, for the first time in his life, he was going to war for his family.
