Chapter 2 - The Whispers of the Past
The sterile, polished chrome and glass of the toy store seemed to blur around Spencer Warren as Casey’s voice echoed through the speaker of his phone.
"Mr. Warren? Are you still there?" Casey's voice pressed, tinged with urgency. "Mrs. Florence Miller is currently at Saint Jude's Hospital. She regained consciousness about an hour ago. When the hospital social worker asked if she had any family to notify, Florence mentioned your name. She said... she said you are her nephew."
Spencer’s grip on his smartphone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. His mind raced back through decades of family history, luxury, cold isolation, and the iron-fisted rule of his late father, Arthur Warren. Arthur had been a man of terrifying wealth and absolute control, a patriarch who treated human beings like chess pieces.
"That's impossible," Spencer muttered, his voice barely audible over the cheerful electronic jingle of a nearby display toy. "My father died five years ago. He left me the entire estate because I was his only legitimate heir."
"Legitimate is a legal term, Mr. Warren," Casey replied sharply. "Florence worked as a head nursery maid in this very estate thirty years ago, right around the time you were sent away to boarding school. She claims your father forced her out when she became pregnant with his child. That child was Charlee's mother. Which makes Charlee your biological cousin, not your niece—my apologies for the initial miscalculation."
Spencer looked across the aisle. Charlee was standing on her tiptoes, carefully placing a soft, blue plush bear into the cart next to baby Dexter, who was sleeping peacefully in his carrier. The little girl’s face was lit with a fierce, protective tenderness. She looked nothing like the polished, entitled socialites Spencer usually surrounded himself with. Yet, looking closely at the sharp line of her jaw and the stubborn tilt of her chin, a chilling realization washed over him. She carried the unmistakable stamp of the Warren bloodline.
Across from him, Dr. Pamela Ortiz looked stricken, her hands trembling as she clutched her designer handbag.
"Spencer," Pamela whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't know anything about Florence, I swear to you. My nightmare started six months ago when Jocelyn Cooper walked into my clinic. Jocelyn... Jocelyn is your cousin too, on your mother's side. She was desperate. She claimed you had promised her a family years ago before you broke things off. She begged me to use your frozen samples. I was weak. I was deep in debt, and she offered me a fortune to bypass the ethical boards."
Spencer hung up on Casey without saying goodbye. He turned his cold, piercing gaze onto Pamela. The man who was known in the corporate world as the 'Ice Duke' felt a furnace of fury burning in his chest.
"You committed a felony, Pamela," Spencer said, his voice dropping into a register so chilling that she stepped back. "You played God with my genetic material, and you gave it to a woman who apparently wanted the child dead—or worse, used as a pawn in a sick family war."
"I didn't know she would abandon him!" Pamela cried softly, drawing a few glances from nearby shoppers. "Jocelyn told me she was taking the baby abroad to start fresh. When I saw the news alert this morning about a baby found outside the Warren estate... Spencer, someone in your own house must be working with her. Only a handful of people knew you had those specific samples stored in my private vault."
Spencer’s eyes narrowed. Inside his own home.
He thought of Mrs. Mabel, who had served the family faithfully for forty years. He thought of the security guards at the iron gates. And then, a dark, heavy thought dropped into his mind like a stone: Arthur Warren had left enemies everywhere, and some of them still drew breath inside the Pinecrest Heights mansion.
"We are going to the hospital," Spencer said, grabbing the handle of the shopping cart. He looked down at Charlee, who looked up with wide, intelligent eyes that had seen far too much hardship for a seven-year-old.
"Are we going to see Grandma Florence?" Charlee asked softly.
Spencer knelt down, placing a warm, heavy hand on her small shoulder. For the first time in his adult life, a genuine warmth softened his stern features.
May you like
"Yes, Charlee. We are going to see her. And nobody is ever going to take you or Dexter away from me again. Understand?"
Charlee nodded, a tiny smile breaking through her weary face. As they walked out of the store toward the underground parking garage, Spencer made a mental vow. The traitor inside his mansion—whoever they were—was about to learn that waking the sleeping wolf of the Warren family was the last mistake they would ever make.
