Zeke's POV

I sat at my desk, Mr. Rogers opposite me. The recent attack on my children weighed heavily on my mind, fueling constant worry and anger. I turned to Mr. Rogers, urgency edging my voice. "Mr. Rogers, what's the latest on the investigation into the men who attacked my children? Any new updates?"

Mr. Rogers nodded solemnly, retrieving a tablet. The screen illuminated, displaying dashcam footage—a fleeting glimpse of the attackers' vehicle. My jaw clenched. Frustration boiled.

"We have the license plate," Mr. Rogers explained, "but it doesn't exist."

My brows furrowed. "How is that possible? They can't just vanish!"

Mr. Rogers shook his head. "We've traced the car's purchase, but found no trace of the owners. Nothing."

My teeth gritted. These attackers had violated my family, endangered my kids, and now they'd disappeared. It was infuriating. "We can't let them get away with this," I growled. "We need to find them and make them pay."

Mr. Rogers, his expression grim, nodded. "I'll keep digging, Mr. Reid. We won't rest until we have answers."

"Keep me informed," I instructed. "And let me know if we can accelerate the investigation."

He nodded, his gaze steady. "Of course, Mr. Reid. We'll leave no stone unturned."

He left. I loosened my tie. Who the hell were these bastards?

I turned to my PC, reviewing company documents. I needed to identify the attackers, their mysterious saviors, and their motives. No one would risk their lives for strangers. It had to be an inside job, but who? Fletcher knew nothing until I called in the special ops team; Zane likely learned about it then, too.

Arrggh!

Mr. Rogers returned. "Mr. Reid, I have new information."

"What?" I asked, leaning forward.

He hesitated. "The attackers were members of an underworld gang."

"Which gang?" I asked coldly. Why would they attack my kids? Did they know they were mine?

Mr. Rogers shook his head. "We're unsure. They have a history of criminal activity and prior imprisonment."

I gritted my teeth. My children had been endangered by these dangerous criminals. "Did you find out who killed them? And why they saved my kids?"

He sighed. "We're still piecing it together. Whoever it was left no trace."

I ran a hand through my hair. Someone had saved my children and vanished. "What about their deaths? There must be clues." Each gang had a unique killing style.

Mr. Rogers displayed a photo on his tablet. "They were all shot in the heart," he explained, "a single gunshot wound."

The precision suggested a skilled marksman. But who? And why intervene?

"There must be a reason," I muttered. "But what? And why my kids?"

Mr. Rogers shrugged. "It's a mystery, sir, but we'll find out."

I nodded. Whoever saved my children was still out there. I would uncover the truth.

While still pondering this, my phone rang. I frowned at the caller ID. "Here," I said, handing the phone to Mr. Rogers. "Take this."

"Yes, Mr. Reid."

He answered professionally, but tension filled the room as he listened. "Who is this, please?" he asked, politely but guardedly.

The caller identified himself as Mr. Finley, personal assistant to Raymond Manor, Ellen's father.

What the fuck do they want?