“MY MOM SOLD ME LAST NIGHT.” THE LITTLE GIRL SAID IT TO THE ONE MAN IN CHICAGO EVERYONE ELSE WAS AFRAID TO APPROACH.

The Escalade pulled into the private underground garage beneath William’s high-rise residence on Michigan Avenue at 12:15 AM.

Bear kept the motor idling, his eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the concrete pillars. “Boss, the Whitmores aren't just local rich. Richard Whitmore sits on the board of Mercy General, and Margaret’s father was a federal judge. If we keep this kid, they won't file a police report—they’ll call the U.S. Marshals.”

“Let them,” William said coldly, wrapping Diana tighter in his cashmere coat. The child had fallen into a light, twitching sleep the moment the heater kicked on, her breathing shallow and ragged.

William carried her up the private elevator directly to his penthouse. He called Dr. Evelyn Thorne, a trusted physician who owed the Castellano family her medical license after a targeted extortion scandal five years prior.

Within twenty minutes, Evelyn arrived with a compact medical kit.

She examined Diana on the velvet sofa in William’s study. As Evelyn peeled away the damp white nightgown, a collective silence descended upon the room.

Diana’s ribs were prominent beneath her pale skin, but it was her arms that caught the doctor’s attention. Dozens of faint, small puncture marks dotted her inner elbows and wrists—some healed into white dots, others fresh and bruised.

“These aren't from illegal drugs,” Evelyn muttered, adjusting her magnifying glass. “The track marks are precise, clinical. Someone was drawing blood. A lot of it. And frequently.”

William stood by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the storm-swept lakefront, his hands thrust deep into his suit pockets. “Check her heels.”

Evelyn inspected the tiny cuts on Diana’s feet. “Lacerations from running over broken glass and wet gravel. She wasn't lying about running away. William... who is this child?”

“A girl whose mother decided fifty thousand dollars was worth more than her life,” William answered, his voice dropping to an icy register. He turned to Bear. “Find Crystal Reeves. I want to know every casino debt, every dealer, and every bank account she’s touched in the last six months.”

“On it,” Bear growled, stepping out toward the security console.

Evelyn bandaged Diana’s feet and administered a mild sedative to help her sleep through the night. As she packed her bag, she looked at William with deep concern. “William, if you get involved in a child custody dispute involving people like the Whitmores, your legitimate business fronts won't protect you. The state will call it kidnapping.”

“Paperwork signed by a casino whore and an illegitimate attorney doesn't make a legal adoption, Evelyn,” William said. “It makes a transaction. And in this city, nobody closes a transaction on my streets without my permission.”

After Evelyn left, William sat in a leather armchair beside the guest bed where Diana slept. He pulled the wet document out of his pocket and laid it flat under a brass lamp.

The attorney’s seal bore the name Arthur Pendelton, Esq.

William recognized the name. Pendelton was a disreputable fixer who specialized in off-the-books asset transfers for Chicago’s political elite. He operated out of an unmarked suite in the Financial District.

At 2:30 AM, Bear re-entered the room, tossing a thin dossier onto the desk. “Crystal Reeves is twenty-nine. Chronic gambling addiction. She owes $120,000 to an offshore sportsbook affiliated with the Moretti syndicate. Last night at 11:30 PM—twenty minutes before Diana ran—Crystal’s primary account received a wire transfer of $50,000 from a shell corporation registered in the Cayman Islands.”

“Who owns the shell corporation?” William asked.

“ Whitmore Medical Logistics,” Bear replied. “A subsidiary of Richard Whitmore’s healthcare conglomerate.”

William’s jaw set like iron. “A medical executive buying a child using his own logistics firm’s money. He wasn't even trying to hide it because he assumed nobody would ever look.”

He stood up, adjusting his cuffs. “Keep three men on this floor. Nobody enters, nobody leaves. If a delivery driver looks at this door wrong, break his legs.”