He sat, running a hand across the back of his neck—like a man who hadn’t slept much lately.
Up close, he looked exactly like the photographs she’d seen online that afternoon. Tall. Well built. Early forties, maybe.Dark hair threaded lightly with silver at the temples. The steady composure of someone used to managing people and problems.
But there was something else in his eyes.
Exhaustion.
The particular kind that came from spending years as one line in someone else’s story.
Eleanor took the seat across from him.
“How bad was it today?”
David let out a tired, humorless sound.
“Two camera crews. Three reporters. One drone.”
“Creative.”
“One of them tried to follow my truck onto the site.”
“That’s illegal.”
“Didn’t seem to slow them down.”
Eleanor folded her hands on the table.
“Tell me why you’re here.”
David held her gaze.
“Because I can’t do this again.”
The room went still.
The words were quiet, but they landed hard.
“They’re tearing it open,” he continued. “Podcasts. News outlets. Investors are already calling, asking if the rumors are true.”
Eleanor said nothing.
“I cooperated eight years ago,” he went on. “DNA. Polygraph. Everything the sheriff’s office asked for.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“My son was one year old when Caroline disappeared,” he said.
The name hung between them.
"Now he’s nine. He’s at the age when the foundation is being laid, Eleanor. I’m not letting the internet crack it."
David looked down at the table for a moment.
Something shifted quietly in Eleanor’s chest.
She understood that feeling.
There was a time an entire city had decided what kind of woman she was based on a handful of photos and a headline.
