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Matthews had been involved in the import-export industry and had close ties with Eduardo. They'd been involved in several business dealings together before a sudden fallout ten years back. What was intriguing was that after the fallout, Matthews seemed to have disappeared from public life altogether. If there were any traces of him left, they were carefully scrubbed clean from both digital and physical worlds.
Stephen Matthews, on the other hand, was a different story. Squeaky clean, model citizen - too clean for my taste. No social media. No public appearances since his graduation from a private school seven years ago. Perhaps the father's fall from grace had made the son overly cautious. But somebody doesn't just disappear off the grid like that without a reason. So, what was he hiding? A secret connection to Eduardo Reyes, perhaps?
Everyone had skeletons in their closet, and I had an inkling that Stephen Matthews' skeletons were linked to Sofia and Sam's abduction.
No credit card purchases. No run-ins with the law. The only records of him were linked to his high-profile corporate job, and an all too convenient stint volunteering at a charity that Eduardo had heavily invested in. It all smacked of a carefully constructed persona, one designed to fly under the radar.
Armed with more questions than answers, I found myself digging deeper into the morass of information, pulling up details on Stephen's life that, in any other circumstance, would have been benign. But right now? Every piece was suspect.
I started compiling a timeline, mapping out his movements over the last decade - from his sudden move to Chicago after his father's supposed fallout with Eduardo, to his return to Miami barely a year ago. I even got hold of some old plane tickets - vacation spots that matched with known locations of Eduardo's operations.
And then there it was. A property in Miami he’d bought under an LLC barely a month ago - located just six miles from the tower Sofia's call was traced back to. I stared at the screen, the details of the sale glaring back at me in black and white, and all at once, the dominoes began to topple.
I drummed my fingers on the desk, my mind racing. It was too convenient, too coincidental. But in my line of work, coincidences were as rare as unicorns. The evidence pointed to Stephen Matthews being deeply entwined in this mess, and if I was right, he was our key to finding Sofia and Sam.
I pulled up detailed blueprints of the property he’d bought - a sprawling estate hidden away amidst a labyrinth of narrow streets and alleyways. A perfect hideout.
Perfect for an underground bunker.
“Gotcha,” I said as I saved all the data onto a thumb drive.
My heart pounded at the realization that Sofia and Victor could be trapped in that underground bunker. I felt my blood run cold with dread, spiked with a desperate urgency to get to them. But I knew we had to tread carefully. One false move and Eduardo could make them disappear for good.
“We’ll get you back, Sof,” I said to the screen. “No matter what.”
Chapter Seven: Victor
Sofia sighed as she looked at me while I put the phone away between two loose bricks. “They’ll come for us,” she said.
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
"We just have to stay alive until they do," she continued, a determined glint in her eyes.
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” I said. “Stephen doesn’t seem very interested in trying to kill us. As long as your dad isn’t around, we should be okay.”
She sat down on the tiny dungeon bed. “How long do you think we have until he does come here?”
I shrugged, unsure how to answer. “Honestly, I have no idea.”
"But we have to be ready," I added, my gaze fixed on her. "For anything. We don't know what your father or his cronies are capable of."
I watched her for a moment, my heart shrinking at the sight of her. Even in this grimy place, there was an ethereal beauty about her that commanded my attention - the way her eyes sparkled with an inner fire, the way her chestnut hair framed her face, the way her lips shaped each word as she spoke.
“Do you think he’ll come back tonight?”
“Hard to know,” I said, sitting next to her.
"Maybe we should try to sleep while we can?" Her suggestion was soft, cautious. I could tell she was uncertain about whether it was the right call, but I knew she was right.
"Yeah," I nodded. "We should get some rest."
She turned to look at me, her breath shaky. “How’s your injury?”
“Fine. Totally fine,” I said. “Do you want to see?”
She nodded, and I bunched up my shirt to show her my side. It was bruised and swollen, the skin raw and tender to the touch. But my reassurances seemed to work as she let out a breath she'd been holding in. The cleaning had done its job, though, and it could’ve been a lot worse.
"See? Just a scratch," I said, forcing a smile onto my face.
