“Drayton released a statement asking for privacy during this difficult time.” No body recovered. No confirmation.
Just presumed dead and then… Silence. The story disappeared after that. No follow-up articles.
No investigation reports. Nothing. Like someone had buried it.
Made it go away. Skye sat back. Her heart pounded wrong.
She pulled up a photo of Lennox from that time period. Found one from a memorial service. He looked sad.
Appropriate. Like a grieving father should. But something about his eyes bothered her.
They weren’t empty with grief. They were relieved. She’d seen enough real pain in her life to know what it looked like.
This wasn’t it. The next day after school, she went to the library. Asked the librarian about accessing old newspaper archives.
The real ones. Not just what was online. “We have microfiche for local papers going back 30 years,” the librarian said.
“What are you looking for?” “A story from about 15 years ago. Missing child case.” The librarian’s face softened.
“School project?” “Yeah, something like that.” She spent four hours scrolling through blurry microfiche. Her eyes burned.
Her neck hurt. Then she found it. A photo.
Small. Grainy. But there.
A little black girl. Maybe five years old. Wearing a red cardigan.
The caption read, “Skye Drayton. Daughter of tech CEO Lennox Drayton. Missing since Tuesday.”
Skye Drayton. Not Rowan. Drayton.
Her hand flew to her mouth. The room spun.
She read the article with shaking hands. Skye Drayton. Five.
Disappeared during a family outing in the mountains. “Drayton reported his daughter wandered off while he was taking a phone call. Despite extensive search efforts, no trace has been found.”
“Authorities suspect exposure.” Taking a phone call. That was his story.
She wandered off. But Skye’s fractured memories said something different. A man walking away.
On purpose. Deliberately. “Just stay here.”
“I’ll be right back.” Not a phone call. A choice.
He didn’t lose her. He left her. On purpose.
Her vision blurred. Tears came without permission. She printed the article.
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Then she printed the photo. That little girl was her.
Same face. Same cardigan. Lennox Drayton was her father.
And he’d left her in those mountains to die. Then declared her dead when she survived. She walked home in a daze.
Elias was at work. The house was empty. Skye taped the printed article to her bedroom wall.
Stared at it. Everything made sense now. Why Elias panicked when she mentioned Lennox.
Why he had that envelope of cash. Why he lied about everything. He was paid to make sure she died.
But he saved her instead. Gave her a new name. A new life.
Protected her from a man who wanted her gone. Skye sat on her bed. Pulled her red cardigan close.
The same one from the photo. The same one she was wearing when Lennox left her. She’d kept it all these years without knowing why.
Now she knew. It was evidence. Proof that she was Skye Drayton.
The daughter who was supposed to be dead. But wasn’t. And somewhere out there, Lennox was living his perfect life.
Getting praised for charity work. For helping sick children. While his own daughter, the one he abandoned, barely survived on scraps.
The anger that rose in her chest was hot. Sharp. He owed her.
More than money. More than apologies. He owed her the truth.
And she was going to make him face it. The truth didn’t come from Elias. It came from a job.
At 19, Skye started freelancing as a data researcher. Companies hired her to dig through public records. Analyze patterns.
Check backgrounds. It was perfect for her. Remote work.
Flexible hours. Used her perfect memory. And it paid better than the diner.
Most jobs were boring. Market trends. Property records.
Competitor analysis. Then one day, an email came from an anonymous client. “Need someone to trace inconsistencies in Draytech Global’s financial disclosures.”
“Pay is triple your normal rate. Confidential.” Skye stared at the screen.
Draytech. That name again. She should have said no.
Should have walked away. But she needed the money. And she needed to know.
She accepted the job. The client sent encrypted files. Hundreds of documents.
Financial statements. Insurance claims. Legal paperwork.
Skye sorted through them methodically. Looking for gaps. Errors.
Things that didn’t match. Most of it was standard corporate stuff. Nothing unusual.
Then she opened a folder labeled “Legacy Claims Closed.” Inside was an insurance payout from 15 years ago. The file name made her stop breathing.
“Minor dependent. Mountain incident. Deceased.”
Her hands shook as she clicked it. The claim was for 2 million dollars. Life insurance on a child.
Beneficiary: Lennox Drayton. Reported age of deceased: 5 years old.
Cause: exposure and hypothermia. Unattended minor. Location:
Cascade Mountain Range. Date filed: 3 days after Skye remembered being in that hospital with Elias. She scrolled down.
There was more. A death certificate. Signed by a doctor she’d never heard of.
Cause of death: Complications from exposure. Time of death:
Estimated within 24 hours of disappearance. But that was impossible. Skye was alive 24 hours after she was left in those mountains.
She was in a hospital. Being treated. Breathing.
This death certificate was filed while she was still alive. She kept reading. Hands trembling.
The insurance company paid out in full. No investigation. No questions.
Case closed. On paper, Skye Drayton died 15 years ago. On paper, her father collected 2 million dollars.
On paper, she never existed past age 5. Skye pushed away from her laptop. She couldn’t breathe right.
Not from her heart this time. From rage. He didn’t just abandon her.
He killed her. Legally. Officially.
Filed the paperwork. Collected the money. Moved on.
While she grew up poor. Sick. Struggling for every single thing.
While Elias worked himself to death trying to keep her alive. While she wore second-hand clothes and skipped meals and wondered why she never had enough. Lennox had taken 2 million dollars and built an empire on the lie of her death.
She grabbed her phone. Pulled up every photo she had of Lennox. Stared at his face.
That cold smile. Those empty eyes. This man was her father.
And he’d erased her. She didn’t tell Elias right away. Couldn’t face him yet.
Too angry. Too hurt. Instead, she kept digging.
Traced where that 2 million went. Found it seeded into Draytech’s early investments. Helped launch the company that made him billions.
Her death funded his success. The thought made her sick. She found more files.
Learned how he’d sealed records. Paid off the right people. Made sure no one asked questions.
One document showed a payment to a private investigator. Dated 2 weeks after she disappeared. The report was brief.
“No evidence of child recovery. Search suspended. Recommend closing case.”
But there was a handwritten note in the margin. “Possible witness. E.R.”
“Paid and relocated. E.R. Elias Rowan.” So Lennox knew.
Knew someone had interfered. Knew someone took Skye. But he didn’t pursue it.
Didn’t investigate further. Because he wanted her gone. Dead or missing, it didn’t matter.
As long as she wasn’t his problem anymore. That night, Elias came home late. Skye was sitting at the kitchen table.
The printed death certificate in front of her. He saw it immediately. Froze in the doorway.
“Skye.” “You knew.” Her voice was flat.
Cold. “I can explain.” “You knew he declared me dead.”
“You knew he collected insurance money. You knew everything.” Elias’s face crumbled.
“I was trying to protect you.” “By lying? For 14 years?” “By keeping you alive?” His voice cracked. “If Lennox knew you survived, he would have—” He stopped.
“He would have what?” Elias sat down hard. Put his head in his hands. “He would have finished the job.”
The words hung there. Heavy and final. “That’s why you took me,” Skye said.
“That’s why you changed my name. That’s why we’ve been hiding.” “I wasn’t hiding.”
“I was protecting you. From my own father. From a man who paid me to let you die.”
Silence. Skye looked at the death certificate again. Her name.
Her fake death date. “I can’t stay here,” she said quietly. Elias looked up.
Panic in his eyes. “What?” “I can’t keep living this lie. Pretending I’m someone I’m not.”
“Skye, please.” “My name isn’t even Skye Rowan. It’s Skye Drayton.”
“And he’s out there living his perfect life while we’re drowning.” “What are you going to do?” She stood up. Folded the death certificate….
