Chapter 2 - THE SLUMS OF THE forgotten
"A billionaire steps into the dark, only to find the empire he built was built on a lie."
The walk to the triplets' apartment was a journey through a world Mark had forgotten existed. They walked away from the glittering skyscrapers of the financial district, deeper into the crumbling outskirts of the city where the streetlights flickered and died.
Norah walked fast, her small boots squeaking in the slush. Tessa walked beside Mark, occasionally glancing up at him. June clutched Mark's hand. Her hand was so small, so freezing, that it made his chest ache with a violent, protective rage.
"Is your apartment far?" Mark asked, keeping his pace slow enough for their small legs.
"Just around this corner," Norah said, pointing toward a dilapidated brick building with boarded-up windows and graffiti-covered doors. "The elevator doesn't work, so we have to climb the stairs. We live on the fifth floor."
"You climb five flights of stairs every day?" Mark’s voice was tight.
"It’s good for our legs," Tessa said quietly, speaking for the first time. "But it makes Mommy cough. That’s why she doesn't go outside anymore."
They entered the building. The air inside smelled of damp mold and old trash. Mark felt a sickening wave of guilt wash over him. While he lived in a three-story penthouse with heated marble floors, his daughters were living in a place unfit for animals.
They reached the fifth floor. Norah pushed open a heavy, peeling wooden door.
The apartment was freezing. There was no heat. A single lightbulb hung from a frayed wire in the middle of the room. In the corner, on a mattress supported by wooden pallets, lay a woman. She was covered in three thin, faded blankets, her body shivering violently under the layers.
"Mommy!" June cried out, running to the bedside. "We brought a man! He’s going to buy the painting!"
The woman on the bed stirred slowly. She coughed—a deep, painful, chest-racking sound that made Mark’s stomach clench. She slowly turned her head. Her face was hollow, her skin translucent, but when her amber eyes opened and adjusted to the dim light, Mark’s heart stopped.
It was Anna.
She looked at the girls, a faint, tired smile on her lips. "My sweet girls... I told you not to go outside..."
"Mommy, look," Norah said, pointing to Mark, who was standing paralyzed in the doorway.
Anna’s eyes followed Norah's hand. The moment her gaze landed on Mark, her entire body went rigid. The faint color in her cheeks drained completely. Fear—pure, unadulterated terror—flickered in her eyes.
"Mark?" she whispered, her voice cracking. She tried to push herself up, but she was too weak, falling back onto the pillow. "No... no, go away. You can’t be here. How did you find us?"
Mark stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the empty cupboards, the leaking ceiling, the sheer poverty his family had been subjected to. "Anna... why? Why did you run? Why didn't you tell me about them?"
Anna let out a weak, bitter laugh that turned into another fit of coughing. She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth. When she pulled it away, Mark saw the bright red stain of blood.
"Tell you?" Anna whispered, her eyes shining with tears of anger. "You made it very clear what would happen if I stayed, Mark. Your mother showed me the contract. She showed me the security footage of you agreeing to it. You chose the company. You chose the money. You told me to disappear, or you would make sure I never worked in this city again."
Mark froze. "What are you talking about? I never agreed to anything! I searched for you for a year!"
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Before Anna could answer, the loud, commanding sound of sirens wailed outside. Red and blue lights flashed through the cracked windowpane. Mark’s private medical team had arrived.
"Get them ready," Mark ordered into his phone as he knelt by Anna's bed. He reached out to touch her face, but she flinched away. "I don't care what you think happened seven years ago, Anna. You are not dying. Not today. Not ever."
