Chapter 2: The Ghost of Elena
Within twenty minutes, Marcus had cross-referenced local emergency room admissions with Mateo’s past. The name popped up on a secure database: Elena Cruz, admitted two hours prior to St. Jude’s Free Clinic with severe acute pneumonia and respiratory failure.
Sitting in the back of his armored Cadillac Escalade, Mateo watched the two girls in the rearview mirror. Chloe had already offered Emma half of her strawberry macaron. Emma had taken it with a polite, whisper-soft "thank you," nibbling on the edges like a creature unused to sweetness.
Mateo stared out the tinted window as the city blurred past. Seven years ago, before he inherited his father’s crumbling real estate empire and built it into a multi-billion-dollar dynasty, he had spent a summer incognito in a small fishing village in Maine, recovering from a brutal corporate betrayal. He had met Elena—a talented painter working at a local gallery who loved him simply as 'Matt,' a quiet carpenter.
When his father suffered a fatal stroke, Mateo had been pulled back into the den of wolves overnight. He had left her a note and a promise to return within a week. But by the time he went back, the cottage was empty, the lease broken, and Elena had vanished without a trace. He had spent two years searching before concluding she had moved on.
He had been wrong. She hadn't moved on; she had run away carrying his child.
"Sir, we've arrived," Marcus said, pulling into the cracked asphalt parking lot of the underfunded clinic on the South Side.
Mateo stepped out, opening the door for Emma. He gently extended his hand. "Come on, Emma. Let’s go see your mom."
May you like
Emma placed her small, cold hand into his massive, warm palm without hesitation.
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