Marcus Hale, Alexander’s executive assistant, who had quietly entered behind them, let out a sharp breath. “Sir, this is manipulation. A scam.”
Isabella didn’t look at him.
“I waited outside,” she explained. “When everyone was distracted by the gala, I slipped in.”
Then her gaze returned to Alexander.
“Emily Dumitrescu is alive. She has a small crescent-shaped scar behind her left ear. She told me, if I ever escaped, I had to find you.”
The scar.
Alexander felt the world tilt.
It was from a childhood fall off a bicycle. A detail so private he had almost forgotten it himself. He had never shared it publicly. Not with staff. Not with press.
Marcus stepped forward. “Someone coached her.”
Fear flickered across Isabella’s face for the first time.
“Please don’t call the police,” she whispered. “They’ll send me back. Or worse. They have people everywhere.”
Alexander steadied himself against the marble counter.
“Who are ‘they’?” he asked quietly.
Isabella swallowed. “People connected to Orion Holdings. Nathaniel Vaughn.”
The name struck like a gunshot.
Vaughn was his fiercest rival. A polished philanthropist in public. Ruthless in private negotiations.
Alexander drew a slow breath.