Victoria Hayes was 9 years old, black, and growing up in poverty in southern Chicago when she first saw the thin white boy standing behind the fence of the Lincoln elementary school. He didn’t ask for anything. He just looked at the cafeteria trays like hungry children do when they’ve learned not to ask. Victoria had almost nothing, but that day she gave him lunch anyway.
Then she did it again the next day. And the next. For 6 months, she kept giving him the little she had. No one congratulated her. No one knew. She just decided that if he could eat half, she could eat half too, and sometimes she gave him everything.
When Isaiah finally had to leave, he stood there with his face down and a serious look, and made such a ridiculous promise that it made her laugh. One day, he said, he would come back rich and marry her. Victoria shook her head, took off the red ribbon from her braid, tore a piece off, and told him not to forget.
Twenty-two years later, Isaiah Mitchell woke up at 6:00 in the morning in an penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan, in a house that cost more than most families would earn in decades. The dawn tinted the water with gold. He barely looked at it. A $7,000 espresso coffee sipped in the kitchen while he buttoned up a dark suit that he hadn’t bothered to choose.
The apartment was perfect and empty. No family photos. No mess. No warmth. Forty custom-made suits hung in perfect rows. The marble ceilings seemed intact. It was less of a home than an exhibition hall for a man who had run out of reasons to enjoy his own success.
His phone vibrated with a message from his assistant reminding him of the 9:00 AM board meeting and confirming that the deal with Thompson had been closed for $12 million. Isaiah read the message, replied “Okay,” and dropped the phone on the counter as if the number belonged to someone else.
In his office, he opened a drawer and contemplated the only thing he protected with more zeal than any contract. Inside a small glass frame was a faded red ribbon, worn out by the passage of time, preserved as best as possible. Every morning he looked at it. Every morning the same question assaulted him with the same force: Where is she?
The board meeting brought the usual applause, the handshakes, the formal congratulations. Another profitable quarter. Another smart acquisition. Another room full of people impressed by a man whose company was now worth $47 million. Isaiah smiled when expected, spoke when necessary, and felt absolutely nothing.
Then, his partner Richard cornered him and told him he had been watching this for years. Isaiah continued buying properties in southern Chicago almost without getting short-term gains, and everyone knew why. It was the girl. The one he had been looking for. Richard told him maybe she didn’t want to be found. Isaiah told him to stop talking.
But it was already too late. Five years, three private investigators, and hundreds of thousands of dollars had not yielded results. Victoria Hayes was a very common name. Her family had disappeared from all records after 2008. Then, at the end of the afternoon, Isaiah took the ribbon back to Lincoln Elementary School, and the old janitor looked at it before whispering a name that chilled his blood…
(The secret behind her disappearance is about to be revealed! Click “Next Page” to continue reading…)
