Chapter 2 - The Shattered Mirror
The air in the private investigator's office felt thick, almost unbreathable. Rowan stared at the handwritten note in his shaking hands. The third baby. The words burned into his retinas, a cruel riddle left behind in the wake of an elaborate, calculated destruction.
He looked up at Marcus Vance, the investigator he had trusted blindly a year ago. Marcus was sweating, his eyes darting toward the door.
"Where is the third child, Marcus?" Rowan’s voice wasn't loud. It was a deadly, low whisper that carried the weight of a man who had nothing left to lose.
"Rowan, please, you don't understand the kind of pressure I was under," Marcus stammered, backing away until his spine hit the filing cabinet. "Claire... her family... they promised to ruin me if I didn't play along. They have judges in their pockets, Rowan!"
Rowan crossed the room in two strides, grabbing Marcus by the lapels of his expensive jacket. The raw, primal fury radiating from Rowan made the older man gasp. "I don't give a damn about the Whitmore family. I gave you a name, Marcus. I gave you my trust. Where is my third child?"
"I don't know!" Marcus cried out, his hands raised in surrender. "I swear to God, Rowan, I don't know! Claire took care of that part herself. The birth certificates you're holding... those were copies Megan tried to file legally, but Claire intercepted the court records. Megan had triplets, Rowan. Triplets. Two boys and a girl. But when she left the hospital in Nashville, she only had the boys."
Rowan’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Triplets. Megan had carried three of his children alone, in poverty, branded as a cheating thief by the town and the man who had promised to protect her. And Claire—the woman currently selecting floral arrangements for their high-society wedding—had torn one of those babies away.
"If you want to live to see tomorrow, Marcus, you will pack every digital drive, every scrap of paper regarding my wife, and you will put it in my car," Rowan said, releasing him with a shove. "Then, you are going to leave Franklin. If I see your face again, the police will be the least of your worries."
Ten minutes later, Rowan was speeding down the darkened highway, the box of files securely in the passenger seat. His mind was a chaotic storm. He thought of Megan’s hollow eyes, the worn-out sandals, the sack of aluminum cans. A year ago, he had cut her off from every bank account, ensuring she left the divorce with absolutely nothing, believing she had embezzled millions from his firm. She had been too proud to beg his wealthy family for help, and her own parents had passed away years ago. She had been entirely, utterly alone.
He pulled his car to the side of the road, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He had to go to her. But how could he look her in the eye? How could he explain that he had been so blind, so easily manipulated by Claire’s poisonous whispers?
Suddenly, his phone lit up on the dashboard. Claire’s name flashed across the screen.
Rowan answered, forcing his voice to remain flat, draining it of the absolute loathing that threatened to choke him. "Claire."
"Darling, where are you?" her sweet, melodic voice echoed through the car speakers. It was the same voice that had mocked his suffering wife just hours prior. "The caterers are waiting at the estate. We need to finalize the tasting menu for the rehearsal dinner. You didn't forget, did you?"
Rowan looked at the box of files. The urge to confront her, to scream the truth in her face and watch her high-society facade crumble, was nearly overwhelming. But he stopped himself. If Claire realized he knew the truth, she would hide the third baby forever. She had resources, power, and a network of corrupt elite connections. He had to play the game until he had his family safe.
"I haven't forgotten," Rowan said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I had an unexpected crisis at the office. Go ahead without me, Claire. I'll see you at the house later tonight."
"Alright, don't be too late, honey. I love you."
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"Goodbye, Claire."
He hung up, shifted the car into drive, and turned away from his mansion. He drove back toward the deserted road outside Franklin where he had seen Megan. He didn't know where she lived, but he knew every square inch of this county. If she was collecting cans, she was staying somewhere cheap, somewhere hidden. He would search every motel, every trailer park, every abandoned farmhouse until he found her.
