8
The enforcer nodded. “Do you have any idea where your daughter is?”
“I don’t know where that little beast has gone. Scarlett disappeared weeks ago,” my father said coldly to the enforcers, his face
impassive.
“We understand, Mr. Morgan, but we’ll continue searching. We do ask for your continued cooperation with our investigation,” the lead enforcer replied, his tone respectful but firm.
The truth was, no matter how extensively the pack enforcers searched, they would never find me.
I was still lying in the fire house, my body in an advanced state of decomposition. Soon, I’d be nothing but bones.
How could anyone find a person who never left?
The enforcers scoured the territory, determined to track me down. They reviewed security footage from businesses throughout
the area, but all they found were glimpses of someone wearing my clothes, always with a mask and hat obscuring their face.
Nothing conclusive.
Like wolves tracking a ghost, they searched for weeks. By the time Elise was released from the hospital, pale and hollow–eyed
from her trauma, they still hadn’t found any trace of me.
“It’s as if she vanished into thin air,” the lead enforcer reported during another visit to our mansion.
“Hmph! A living person doesn’t just disappear!” my father snapped, pounding his fist against a table. “Those worthless friends
of hers must be helping her hide. Scarlett has always been calculating. She’s out there somewhere!”
The enforcer didn’t react to my father’s outburst. Instead, his gaze drifted around the room, eventually settling on a security camera mounted in the corner of the living room.
“Mr. Morgan, would it be possible for us to review your home security footage?” he asked.
My father nodded curtly. “Of course.”
