Once there, I check my calendar, respond to some emails, and prepare for my meeting with the PI.
The knock on my office door is precise.
“Come in,” I say without looking up from the document on my screen.
The door opens and closes softly behind him. ElliottGrayson strolls to my desk. He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. He sets the manila file on my desk, fingers resting on the cover like he’s bracing it.
“Mr. Locke,” he says. He’s in his mid-forties, wearing a gray suit. “You were right to be concerned,” he says. “But not for the reasons you think.”
My stomach tightens.
“Thank you for coming, Elliott.” I nod to the chair in front of my desk. “Sit.”
He does.
“You hired me to run a background check on Silas Reeve.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“He doesn’t have a public record.” His voice is calm.
That’s not comforting.
“But,” the PI continues, “he does have asealedone.”
My jaw tightens. “Explain.”
He opens the folder and slides it to me. I look through it, my jaw clenching. Police reports. Court documents. Names redacted in places—but not all.
“He grew up wealthy,” Elliott says. “Family connections. Private settlements. NDAs. You know the type. Things disappear when money insists they do.”
My fingers curl slightly around the folder. “Yeah. I do.”
“There was a woman,” he continues. “About five years ago.”
I flip the page, my mouth going dry when I see it. Stalking. Escalation. A no-contact order.
My pulse begins to tick faster.
“She reported him for obsessive behavior.” Elliott’s expression is grave. “Showing up uninvited. Monitoring her schedule. Following her home. The usual early-stage markers.”
I swallow.Early-stage.
“She filed a restraining order. It was granted.” He pauses. “That’s when it escalated.”
My chest goes tight.
“She disappeared for twelve hours,” he continues evenly. “Taken from her apartment parking garage. He kept her in a rental property owned by his family.”
The room goes cold.
“She escaped,” he says. “Barefoot. Injured. She flagged down a delivery driver.”
I stare at the words on the page, my vision tunneling.
“He was arrested,” Elliott finishes. “Charges were reduced. Records sealed. The story never hit the media.”
I look up slowly. “His parents?”
