Chapter 166: Doyle’s Shadow
Jack’s POV
I bolted out the front door of Simpson mansion, my lungs burning as the frigid November air hit my throat.
Anna was just reaching the iron gates, her figure silhouetted against the twilight sky.
"Anna, wait!" I called, my voice sounding pathetically desperate even to my own ears. "Let me help you find him."
She turned, her eyes meeting mine for the briefest moment. In that split second, I saw nothing but ice -all warmth that had once been reserved for me now extinguished completely.
"Not necessary," she replied, her voice flat and empty. No hesitation, no consideration. She slid into the waiting car without a backward glance.
I stood frozen as her car pulled away, my chest constricting with a pain that felt almost physical. Was this really all that remained of our relationship? The couple who had once shared everything, now couldn’t share even a moment of basic humanity.
Without thinking, I hurried back to my car and followed her at a distance.
Skyview City had transformed overnight-police checkpoints dotted every major intersection, officers methodically inspecting vehicles, particularly those that might hold an infant.
As I inched forward in the inspection line, my phone vibrated. Pax’s name flashed across the screen.
"Mr. Simpson, there’s something I need to tell you," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Is it my father? Did he do this?"
The silence on the other end lasted just long enough.
"I don’t know for certain," Pax finally replied. "But there’s been a stranger at your father’s western estate—a blond foreigner. I’ve never seen him before. and Mr. Simpson has been unusually secretive about him."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "A foreigner? When?"
"He’s been there several days. The staff knows nothing about him." Pax’s voice dropped even lower. "With Marcus Murphy supposedly... gone... I wondered if this might be someone settling scores. You know, eliminating all traces."
_Eliminating all traces. The implication hit me like a physical blow.
A baby—an innocent, helpless newborn-caught in someone’s vengeful crosshairs. The thought was so monstrous my brain initially rejected it.
"Why are you telling me this?" I demanded, suddenly suspicious of his motives.
Pax cleared his throat. "Years ago, before you and Ms. Shaw married, I nearly lost my job over a missing document. Ms. Shaw noticed me calling home, worried about supporting my sick mother. She mentioned it to you, and you moved me to your team. That job kept my mother alive for two more years."
The memory was hazy, buried under years of bitterness and regret.
After hanging up, I immediately dialed Anna from my secondary phone. She answered quickly, not recognizing the number.
"Anna, I have information," I said rapidly, before she could hang up.
"Speak." Her voice was glacial, but I detected the desperate hope beneath.
"Contact Peter Reed. Ask him about a blond foreigner." My words tumbled out urgently. "Pax saw someone at my father’s western estate. He thinks it might be Marcus’s enemy, someone looking to... eliminate loose ends."
Anna’s POV
When Peter finally answered, I cut straight to the point: "Peter, Marcus’s enemies—is there a blond foreign man among them? "
The sudden silence on the other end made my stomach twist into knots.
When Peter spoke again, his voice had dropped to a tense whisper.
’There is. His name is Doyle. He’s survived multiple confrontations with Marcus in Europe." A pause. "Ms. Shaw, what’s happened?"
I hesitated. I hadn’t wanted to involve Marcus’s people, still clinging to the belief that this was George Simpson’s twisted revenge against me. But now, with this new information... my mind raced with horrifying possibilities.
Rachel, who stood beside me listening, gave an encouraging nod. I took a deep breath and forced the words out:
"Benedict has been kidnapped. We suspect this Doyle person is working with George Simpson."
"Benedict’s been kidnapped?" Peter’s voice shot up an octave. "Damn that Doyle! No wonder he’s dropped off our radar. He’s been in Skyview City plotting with Simpson."
"Are they trying to eliminate everyone Marcus cares about?" Peter continued, his voice tense. "Is Benedict going to –"
"No," I interrupted, clarity suddenly cutting through my panic. ’’That’s not it." I forced my thoughts into order, analyzing the situation like a business problem rather than my life shattering into pieces. "If they wanted to kill everyone connected to Marcus, why only take one baby? The kidnapper just grabbed one child wrapped in blanketshe didn’t specifically choose Benedict. Doyle didn’t take my son to harm him."
_If killing was the goal_, I reasoned silently, _why risk smuggling him out of the hospital? Why not just..._ The thought made bile rise in my throat, but it confirmed my theory: Benedict was taken alive for a reason.
My voice grew steadier as conviction solidified within me. "The police have set up checkpoints throughout the city, but with George Simpson’s resources, Doyle might still find a way out of the country. If he takes Benedict back to Europe, your team needs to be ready.
Find my son."
"Understood," Peter replied without hesitation. "T’ll mobilize immediately."
After hanging up, I turned to Jack, who had called to share this lead about Doyle. "Thank you for the information," I said, my voice distant even to my own ears.
"I won’t be going to the hospital," he replied. "I’m heading to the western estate to investigate."
Though I knew Benedict wouldn’t be there-these people weren’t that careless—I didn’t discourage him.
Every lead had to be pursued, no matter how slim.
Standing in the hospital corridor, my mind tortured me with visions of my newborn being smuggled across borders. My legs threatened to give way beneath me. I pressed my palms against my face, feeling utterly hollowed out while my brain whirled with frantic calculations.
Benedict was so tiny, so fragile. He wasn’t meant to travel. He needed sterile bottles, specialized formula, precise temperature control. Each potential discomfort or danger that might befall him sent a fresh wave of agony through me, my hatred for George Simpson crystallizing into something dark and absolute. I will destroy him for this. No matter what it takes._
-- -
Back at the hospital, Logan’s surgery was still underway. Doris Porter sat with red-rimmed eyes while Oscar paced nearby, his expression grim.
When she spotted me, Doris quickly wiped her tears. "You should be resting. We’ll keep watch here."
"Has the doctor said anything?" I asked, forcing steadiness into my voice.
"Just that the surgery is ongoing," she replied, her weathered hands fidgeting with a tissue.
I nodded, taking cold comfort in the absence of critical condition announcements. Unlike with Lucius’s work site accident, when the hospital had issued several urgent notices, Logan seemed stable at least. The thought provided a small island of relief in my ocean of fear.
In my hospital room, my extremities had gone ice-cold. Elizabeth rubbed my hands between hers for several minutes before warmth began to return. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her or William about Doyle, afraid the full truth would only deepen their worry. Instead, I buried my terror beneath a mask of determination.
Hours later, word came that Logan’s seven-hour surgery had succeeded.
He’d been moved to a VIP recovery room. While I felt genuine relief for him, the continued silence regarding Benedict pulled me deeper into despair with each passing minute.