Chapter 199: Just a Coincidence?
He had never thought that either of them might come back into play. Why would they? They had no clue who he was, what he had done, or even that he existed in their dad’s life.
Alexander went back to his desk and opened his laptop quickly, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
For the next four hours, he dug through all sorts of databases: university records, immigration files, government documents, and social media. He looked for every digital trail he could find.
He searched for "Ayla Marcus Alston." Nothing came up.
He searched "Ayla Alston." Still nothing.
Every search came back empty. No records. No matches. No connection to Marcus Alston at all.
What he did find was Ayla Monroe. Born in Turkey, she’d lived there her whole life and was studying computer science. Her record was clean, and her background seemed totally normal.
There was no link to Marcus, no ties to the past, and no connection to him.
Alexander leaned back in his chair, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease up a bit.
It wasn’t her. Emma’s friend wasn’t Ayla Alston. It was just a coincidence, some girl from Turkey with the same first name.
Relief washed over him. It wasn’t her. Just a Turkish girl named Ayla who happened to be the same age, studying computer science, and running into his daughter.
Just as Alexander was about to close his laptop, something nagged at him.
The hospital records. He had breezed past them before, too focused on the name search. But now, with the immediate panic fading, he caught onto something.
They noted severe exhaustion and stress, along with some recent trauma that wasn’t detailed. Previous medical history: records missing, supposedly lost, or never digitized in Turkey.
It felt a bit too convenient. Records that couldn’t be verified. A past suspiciously empty.
Alexander’s jaw tightened up. It could be nothing; Turkey’s digitization of medical records was pretty hit or miss, especially for people from smaller towns. Lots of folks have gaps in their medical histories.
But it could also mean something.
He pulled up the university’s security footage from yesterday’s orientation, using channels he’d rather not explain. He found the lecture hall and spotted Emma’s distinctive blonde hair.
Next to her was a girl with brown hair tied back in a simple ponytail. She was looking down, so her face was partly hidden from the camera. He zoomed in as much as the resolution allowed.
The outline. The shape of her face. The way she carried herself was too familiar.
It wasn’t certain. Ayla Alston had been a kid the last time he saw her, if he even saw her at all. People changed. Faces grew up. Features shifted.
This could be anyone.
But then she turned her head a bit, and he got a look at her eyes, dark brown, really deep brown, showing some caution, a guarded vibe that seemed way too mature for someone so young.
Marcus’s eyes. How could he forget those eyes?
"Damn it," Alexander muttered.
He leaned back, his mind racing with options. The database listed her as Ayla Monroe. The evidence pointed to coincidence. Still, his gut, trained from years of dealing with deception and survival, told him something was off.
If this was Ayla Alston using a fake identity, it meant someone had put a lot of effort into hiding who she really was. This was professional-level stuff. It suggested she either knew something important or had someone looking out for her.
If she got close to Emma, questions would definitely come up. Connections would be made. The well-crafted lies about Emma’s background could start to fall apart.
But if he pulled Emma away from this friendship without solid proof, she’d want answers. She’d question his judgment and start to see cracks in the perfect dad image he had built up for years.
It was a calculated risk either way.
Alexander made up his mind. He would gather more info before doing anything. He would keep an eye on things, wait, and either back up or dismiss his hunches with solid facts instead of paranoia.
He pulled out a burner phone from his desk drawer, one of several he kept for when he needed to keep things on the down-low. He dialed a number he remembered.
It rang a couple of times before a rough voice picked up. "Yeah?"
"I need surveillance," Alexander said straight up. "A college student. Just keep it low-key, no contact."
"Target?"
"I’ll send you the details. I need to know where she goes, who she talks to, and anyone she’s in touch with. And I want a full background check, where she’s from, who she knows, anything that doesn’t match the official story."
"When do you need it by?"
"Forty-eight hours for initial info. I’ll pay triple what you usually charge."
After a moment of silence, he said, "Alright. Just send me what you have."
Alexander ended the call and started putting together the details: screenshots from the security footage, the name Ayla Monroe, her college enrollment info, and the hospital records with their weird gaps.
If Ayla Monroe were just Ayla Monroe, the investigation would clear things up, and he could breathe easy.
But if she were actually Ayla Alston, he’d get the scoop before she had a chance to recognize him or link it back to Emma’s real story.
Either way, he’d be ready.
He sent off the info and then snapped his laptop shut. In two days, he’d have some answers.
For now, though, he needed to play the dad Emma expected. He had to keep the whole normal routine going that had turned into his best cover.
He stood up, rolled his shoulders to shake off the tension, and left the study.
Time to whip up some dinner.
*****
The kitchen was smelling like garlic and olive oil as Alexander cooked at the stove. He’d always been a decent cook, a skill picked up during his solo travels in places where takeout wasn’t an option. Tonight, he was making pasta carbonara, one of Emma’s favorites.
"Emma!" he called out in a friendly tone. "Dinner’s ready!"
