Chapter 42 - MISSING HEIRESS
The Private Investigator stood in the center of the conference room, clutching an envelope around his trembling fingers. Beads of sweat formed on his temples despite the cold temperature inside the room.
He faced his clients with a false bravado that worked well with his other clients—but not with the dignified men seated on the comfy leather chair surrounding the long table.
The meeting he thought would turn out simple, turned to be an execution—his own. He walked straight into the lions' den. He wondered if he would even make it out alive without losing a limb or two once he dropped the news that the woman they'd been searching for years just vanished without a trace.
Nine pairs of hawk-sharp eyes pierced through his skin—almost slicing him to pieces. If looks could kill, their laser-sharp eyes should have burned his flesh to ashes.
If his fee wasn't so astounding—almost thrice as the payment he could get from three separate clients combined—he swore, he would never set foot inside the Crawford Mansion.
The sound of ''Crawfords' name was enough for a man to shake like a leaf. And now that he's facing the clan notorious for their wealth and power, only proved to him that everyone had the reason to tremble with fear under their gaze.
He cleared his throat. After eyeing the grave impatience visible on the men's faces, he was so damn sure they would kill him right away, without a second thought, if he kept them waiting.
"Regarding my latest progress, I have both good news and bad news," He said finally, his voice was loud enough for his clients to hear.
"Drop the crap, Miller. Just tell the goddam news before my impatience propels me to kill you." The eldest son Ethan Crawford spoke harshly, eyes slanted at the corner, fingers abruptly drumming against the marble table.
That murderous glare coming from him was enough for him to tense with alarm. Ethan showed how willing he was to wring his neck if the Crawford Patriarch allowed him to do the deed.
He was now filled with a sense of foreboding. He shouldn't have come here. He told himself, and yet he couldn't just run away from his responsibility. Aside from that, his salary was waiting for him. He couldn't let the money slip off from his hold just because he was fearful to face the Crawfords' wrath.
Logical reasoning told him if the money would ever be of use to him once he turned into a pale, cold corpse before he could retrieve it. But he was already here, that enough made him laud his bravery, despite knowing they will never like the report he was about to announce at least he came here and did his responsibility.
Alexander Crawford, the master of the house was contemplating his thoughts in silence with his hands clasped together in concentration. On his right, a gold ring polished to perfection adorned his middle finger. The stone engraved with the family crest glowed beautifully against the bright chandelier hanging from the ceiling and it was distracting the Investigator's concentration. Every time he looked at it all he could think was how expensive it could be and that he could buy a yacht with that money.
"Continue, Miller." Alexander Crawford, the man of few words spoke. His voice was dangerously calm. He was the man anyone wouldn't dare to mess with. The investigator didn't want to mess with him either, like an obedient puppy, he continued after clearing his throat.
"I found Adele De Amore—your ex-fiancée— but it turns out she died a few months ago from chronic illness. Her husband died a year ago too. She had a daughter, an only child, and she's twenty-three years old now—the same age with your daughter if she happened to be alive."
"Pictures? Do you have her daughter's pictures!? I want to confirm if she was my eldest child."?The Crawford Patriarch voice boomed inside the conference room. He wasn't able to contain his emotion anymore, his fist slammed on the table with force.
He fumbled the brown envelope open and retrieved a thick pile of newly-developed photographs. The pictures are a clear copy of stolen shots, all from the same woman with amazing jet-black hair and a pair of exquisite eyes that could hold a man captive with its charm.
He handed the image to Caleb Crawford since he was the nearest person to him and he delivered the pictures to his father who was holding his breath in suspense.
The Private Investigator watched in anticipation as Alexander Crawford took the pictures. He couldn't believe that this man seated on the opposite side of the long table fathered nine children and still retained his youthfulness despite the years. He looked far from a man in his mid-forties. Even his children looked like his younger brothers. He must be immortal, he thought rather bitterly.
If that was the woman they are looking for then their search was over. The woman mysteriously vanished in broad daylight. He couldn't find any personal information that could give him the lead. The police even stopped searching and assumed she was dead.
"Tell me about her." The Crawford patriarch got up from his seat, placed the pictures on the table carefully as if they were some fragile crystals. His usual slant eyes were surprisingly gentle. Gone was the harsh look, it was now replaced with so much tenderness. None has ever seen this man this emotional before.
"Her name is Phoenix De Amore. She works as a housekeeping staff in a business hotel. She was both beautiful and intelligent—have a bright future ahead of her—She was offered various scholarships from big-time universities but was unable to continue her education. Forced herself to work at a young age to help support her family's needs. She was married to a man for five years but later got a divorce."
"I want to see my daughter as soon as possible. I will pay twice your fee. Just bring her here." He was desperate, and his tone almost impatient.
"I'm afraid it would be impossible Mr. Alexander Crawford." The Private Investigator said weakly.
"What do you mean?" His fist hit the table hard. His expression menacingly dark with fury.
"That's the bad news I wish to tell you….Phoenix De Amore.…She's dead."
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