Chapter 4 - The Search in the Blizzard
By 4:00 P.M., the light snow falling over Chicago had turned into a howling, blinding winter blizzard. Wind whipped off Lake Michigan, piling deep drifts against the sidewalks and turning the downtown streets into ghost towns.
Nolan didn't go back into the dining room. He had walked out of his family home ten minutes after Claire left, ignoring his mother's frantic calls from the porch.
He was currently sitting in his idling sedan parked right outside the bus shelter at Michigan and Delaware Place.
The shelter was empty now, swept clean by the howling wind. No red coats. No yellow coats. No toddlers catching snowflakes.
He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles aching. He had spent the last two hours driving up and down every side street, checking every coffee shop, subway entrance, and grocery store within a ten-block radius, asking strangers if they had seen a young woman with twin toddlers. People had looked at him like he was insane and slammed doors in his face.
She's gone, a dark voice whispered in his head. You had your chance, and you drove right past her.
Desperation clawed at his chest. For all his money, his influence, and his corporate power, he was completely helpless. He didn't even know Maya's current address. When he threw her out two years ago, she had changed her phone number, deleted her social media, and vanished into the vast anonymity of the city.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb hovering over Wade Dalton's number.
He wanted to call his COO and fire him on the spot for poisoning his mind two years ago. But he knew the blame belonged entirely to himself. He was the one who listened. He was the one who walked away.
Instead, he dialed a private investigator he occasionally used for corporate asset vetting.
"Victor," Nolan said the moment the line connected, his voice raw. "I need you to find someone. Tonight. Spare no expense."
"Who am I looking for, Mr. Reed?" the investigator asked calmly over the howling wind outside.
"Maya Bennett. And two eighteen-month-old twin girls."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Maya Bennett? Graphic designer? Used to live in the Lincoln Park loft on Clark Street?"
Nolan sat up straight, hope flaring violently in his chest. "Yes! You know her?"
"I know her landlord," Victor replied smoothly. "When you terminated her lease agreement and cut off her relocation funds two years ago, she didn't leave Chicago. She moved into a small, drafty third-floor apartment over a dry cleaner's on Devon Avenue on the North Side. She's been working freelance graphic design jobs and night shifts at a local bakery to make ends meet."
Nolan’s heart hammered against his ribs like a sledgehammer. "Give me the address. Now."
Twenty minutes later, fighting through blinding whiteout conditions on Lake Shore Drive, Nolan's black sedan slid to a halt in front of a modest, weathered brick building on Devon Avenue. A faded neon sign that read KIM'S DRY CLEANERS blinked a sickly green through the falling snow. Beside it was a narrow metal door with a row of rusty mailboxes.
Nolan cut the engine, threw open the car door, and stepped directly into the freezing slush.
May you like
The wind bit straight through his wool suit jacket, but he didn't feel it. He marched up the exterior metal staircase, his boots clanging loudly against the steps, and stopped in front of apartment 3B.
He raised his fist and hammered on the wooden door.
