“Daddy, please don’t hit me! I promise I was only trying to eat the food they threw away!”

Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in a private, quiet room on the third floor of the Drake Hotel, surrounded by medical personnel and my legal team.

An emergency paramedic was gently checking Chloe’s vital signs, wrapping her small shoulders in a warm, sterile blanket and offering her a cup of warm apple juice and a sandwich. Chloe was eating slowly, small bites at a time, looking up at me every few seconds as if she was terrified I might vanish into thin air.

Arthur Vance stood near the window, reviewing documents on his tablet alongside two uniformed Chicago police officers who were taking my formal statement.

The door opened, and a sharp-looking man in a dark charcoal suit walked in. It was Marcus Thorne, the head of the private investigative firm I had retained fifteen minutes earlier.

“Richard,” Marcus said, stepping into the room and closing the door firmly behind him. “We ran an immediate deep-trace on Elena Morales’s public and private records over the last three years.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I stood up from my chair, keeping one hand resting reassuringly on Chloe’s head.

“Is she alive? Where is she?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat.

Marcus pulled a manila folder from his leather briefcase and opened it.

“She’s alive, Richard,” Marcus said gently. “But your mother orchestrated a nightmare for her.”

I listened in horrified silence as Marcus laid out the entire timeline.

Three years ago, while I was stuck in Texas managing a critical $50 million development deal that required sixteen-hour workdays, my mother had struck. She had shown up at the small home I rented for Elena and Chloe in Evanston accompanied by two corrupt private security guards and a disgraced former police officer.

My mother had planted thousands of dollars worth of heirloom jewelry—jewelry she claimed had been stolen from her estate—inside Elena’s closet. She then threatened Elena with immediate arrest and a thirty-year prison sentence for grand larceny unless Elena signed over temporary custody of Chloe and left the state immediately.

When Elena refused to sign, my mother had her arrested on the spot.

“They held her in Cook County jail for four months,” Marcus revealed, his voice laced with quiet disgust. “Your mother used her political connections to set an impossibly high bail—fifty thousand dollars cash. Elena couldn't afford it, and every time she tried to call your private number, the calls were blocked by an automated filtering app your mother had installed on your phone during a family dinner.”

A cold sweat broke out across my back. I remembered that trip three years ago. I remembered trying to call Elena, only to receive automated text messages from her number saying she was overwhelmed, needed space, and preferred to communicate through my mother.

My mother had possessed Elena’s phone the entire time.

“What happened after the four months?” I whispered, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.

“The charges were quietly dropped due to 'lack of evidence' because your mother never intended to prosecute,” Marcus explained. “She just wanted Elena broken and removed. When Elena was released, she had no money, no home, and a fabricated criminal record that prevented her from getting a decent job or renting an apartment. Your mother issued a civil restraining order claiming Elena was a danger to Chloe.”

“Where is she now, Marcus?” I demanded.

Marcus turned a page in his folder, his eyes softening.

“She’s working sixteen-hour shifts as a night dishwasher at a diner in Pilsen,” Marcus said softly. “She’s been living in a tiny basement room, saving every single dollar she makes to pay for a real estate lawyer to fight your mother’s restraining order. She’s been fighting for three years, Richard. She never stopped trying to get Chloe back.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes. A deep, crushing wave of guilt washed over me.

While I had been traveling the country, building multi-million-dollar towers and naively trusting my aristocratic mother, the woman I had once loved had been living in hell, fighting a rigged legal system just to see her daughter again.

I turned and looked at Chloe. She had finished her sandwich and was watching me with those big, sorrowful brown eyes that looked exactly like Elena’s.

“Chloe,” I murmured, kneeling down in front of her chair and taking her small, warm hands in mine. “Sweetheart… do you know where your mommy is?”

Chloe’s eyes filled with tears. She shook her head softly.

“Grandma told me Mommy went to a far away place because she didn't like me,” Chloe whimpered.

“Grandma lied to you, my beautiful girl,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion. “Your mommy loves you more than life itself. She’s been looking for you every single day. And we are going to go see her right now.”

Chloe’s small face lit up with a ray of pure, blinding hope that broke through three years of dark, terrifying shadows.

“Really, Daddy? Right now?”