Page 27 of His Daughter

It took him less than that to get back to me, and Nolan was right. Harlan Voss was my best bet. Graham surprisingly didn’t have any news for me, and waiting for even the tiniest bit of information was torture.

So, when my phone finally rang two days later, I wasted no time in answering. "Talk to me."

"I found a studio apartment in Astoria. The landlord let me in."

"And?"

"Empty. Cleared out. The landlord says the girl left last night, paid her last month's rent in cash, slid it under his office door, and just left."

I gripped the armrest of my chair. "Her phone?"

"Disconnected. The number you gave me is dead. She either destroyed the SIM or canceled the line."

I stood up and walked to the window. Where are you, Kira? Where’s my child?

"What about family? Friends? Someone she worked with?"

"The modeling agency won’t talk to me. Other models acted like they had no idea who she was. Except one." Voss paused. I could hear papers shuffling. "She said Kira hadn't been around in some time. Couldn’t wait to tell me how fat she’d gotten."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not enough."

"Mr. Hale, it's been two days. Give me — "

"I don't have time to give you. Find her."

I hung up and pressed my palms flat against the glass. My reflection stared back — tie loosened, collar open, a face that hadn't slept properly in three days.

I picked up my phone and scrolled to Kira's name, the number I blocked in my kitchen months ago. Even though I knew it wouldn’t ring, I still dialed.

Nothing.

I tried again. Same result. I threw the phone onto the desk. It skidded across the surface and hit a stack of files I hadn't opened in days.

Voss called the next morning. I was at the Vanguard, standing in my office, staring at the same screen I'd been staring at for an hour without reading a word on it.

"I pulled her financials," he said. "Bank statements, credit activity, the full picture. She's been withdrawing cash in small amounts for the last four months. Closing accounts. No new credit applications, no lease agreements. She's shedding everything traceable."

"She's hiding."

"She's relocating. There's a difference. Hiding is reactive. This is planned. She's been building toward this for months."

"I don't care about the taxonomy, Voss. Where is she?"

"I'm getting there. There's a thread in her bank records. Recurring payments to an agency. Adoption intake fees. Correspondence fees. They go back several months."

I sat down. My legs felt hollow. "She placed the baby for adoption."

"That's what the records indicate. An agency here in the city. Bright Horizons Family Services. I'll send you the details."

I hung up and called David Roth, the senior partner at Whitfield Roth, a firm that handled Vanguard's corporate litigation.

"David, I need you for something personal. Priority."

"What are we dealing with?"

"An adoption agency. Bright Horizons Family Services. They facilitated the placement of my biological child without my knowledge or consent. I was never notified. My parental rights were never terminated. I need that file."

A pause. I could hear him writing. "They'll push back. Sealed records. Privacy protections. Federal — "