Chapter 3 - THE SECURITY FOOTAGEThe private screening room on the top floor of Montgomery Hospital was dead silent except for the low, rhythmic hum of a high-end server rack.
On the massive curved OLED screen, grain-heavy night-vision footage flickered to life. The timestamp read 11:42 PM. The camera was positioned high on the eastern brickwork of Montgomery Tower, angled down into the narrow, dead-end alley where Eleanor had found the baby.
For a full minute, nothing moved except the sheets of rain blowing diagonally across the frame.
Then, a shadow detached itself from the heavy brick pillar near the emergency exit.
Eleanor leaned forward, her elbows braced on the polished mahogany conference table, her eyes locked on the screen. Beside her, James Calder gripped the back of a leather chair, his knuckles twitching.
The figure on the screen wore a heavy, dark trench coat with the collar turned up high against the storm. The gait was unmistakable—a slight, arrogant limp on the left leg, the right shoulder dipping lower than the left.
“Stop,” Eleanor whispered.
James hit the pause button on the wireless remote. The figure on the screen froze mid-stride, turning its head directly toward the camera lens as if knowing precisely where the digital eye was hidden.
A pale face caught the faint amber glow of a security light overhead.
It wasn't a ghost. It wasn't an assassin.
It was Sarah Lin.
Eleanor’s most trusted vice president. The woman with the husband, the two sons, and the cozy suburban life. The woman who supposedly left the building at 6:00 PM every single night.
On screen, Sarah lowered her hands. In her arms, she was cradling the exact bundle of filthy blankets. With cold, mechanical precision, she tossed the bundle into the industrial trash bin, slammed the heavy plastic lid down with a hollow thud, and walked away without looking back once.
“She left her,” James murmured, his voice trembling. “Ms. Montgomery… why would Sarah do that? She’s your right hand. She handles your calendar, your finances, your private trust accounts.”
Eleanor didn’t answer immediately. Her mind was racing backward through years of board meetings, hostile takeovers, and internal audits.
Sarah hadn’t just abandoned a random baby. Sarah had abandoned an infant carrying Jonathan Montgomery’s name tag inside an alley belonging exclusively to the family that had raised—and perhaps destroyed—them both.
The private phone on the conference table suddenly lit up. It wasn’t a standard ring; it was a secure, encrypted satellite chime that only three people on earth possessed.
Eleanor reached out, her finger hovering over the glass screen. The caller ID read RESTRICTED.
She swiped to answer and put it on speaker.
May you like
“You found her, didn’t you, El?” a voice purred from the speaker. It was smooth, rich, and dripping with malicious amusement—a voice Eleanor hadn't heard since a rainy night in Geneva twelve years ago.
It was Jonathan.
