The Foundation of Lies
"Who brought you here tonight, Sophia?" Alexander asked, his voice shaking with a terrifying, lethal quietness.
"Uncle Richard," Sophia whispered, pointing a small, grubby finger down the dimly lit corridor toward the rear fire exit. "He told me to wait by the trash bins while he talked to the banquet manager. He said if I took some bread, he wouldn't tell Mommy I was bad."
Richard.
Alexander’s younger brother. The trusted trustee of the family foundation, the man who had personally volunteered to manage the child support escrow account and handle the property management for Emma and Sophia after the divorce.
Alexander took off his tailored suit jacket and wrapped it around Sophia's shivering body. The heavy cashmere dwarfed her, the hem dragging on the floor, but the warmth seemed to penetrate her hollow frame immediately. He scooped her up into his arms, feeling with horrifying clarity the ridges of her ribs pressing through the fabric.
"You're not going back to the basement, Sophia," Alexander said, pressing his face into her hair, catching the scent of damp concrete and detergent. "Never again. Daddy is right here."
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He walked briskly down the service corridor toward the private kitchen entrance. The kitchen staff froze as the billionaire executive strode past the stainless-steel prep tables carrying a malnourished, soot-covered child wrapped in his jacket.
"Call my private physician, Dr. Hayes," Alexander commanded his personal assistant, who was waiting by the banquet doors with an iPad. "Have him meet me at the Northside Medical Pavilion in twenty minutes. And get security to lock down every exit of this hotel. If Richard Vance attempts to leave the building, detain him."
