My Groom Ditched Me, Now I Hunt The Secret Evil Syndicate

Natalie Alexander was sorting through her laptop, not even sparing a glance upward. “Start paying closer attention to the company’s public records, Dad. Then you’ll see. Jonathan is your brother-in-law, but if you keep indulging him, the entire Alexander family is going to pay for it.”

Stephen Alexander went quiet for a moment. Then, out of nowhere: “Is Grey treating you well?”

Natalie looked up and smiled. “He’s been good to me. He even drove me here this morning.”

Stephen hesitated, then finally nodded. “That’s good. Take care of yourself.”

As Natalie left the meeting room, she ran into Bella in the elevator lobby. Her stepmother must have gotten a call from Jonathan, because she came rushing over, her perfectly made-up face twisted with fury as she blocked the elevator doors.

“Natalie Alexander! What do you think you’re doing? Jonathan has given years to this company, and you want to throw him out over one word?”

Natalie pressed the down button, her expression calm. “Lenora, he ‘borrowed’ sixty million from the company and hasn’t paid it back in over a year. Not calling the cops was already a favor.”

“You—” Bella advanced, pointing a manicured finger right at Natalie’s nose. “Let me tell you something, Natalie Alexander. Don’t think marrying into the Ford family makes you untouchable. Everyone knows Grey Ford is nothing but a lazy playboy who spends his time chasing women and gambling. Your marriage is a joke. You think you’ve moved up? Keep dreaming.”

Natalie let her finish, then tilted her head slightly. “Lenora, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

“What?”

“Last year, you opened an account at a Swiss bank,” Natalie said lightly. “It holds about 1.2 million pounds, sourced from the fourth fund your brother siphoned out of the company and moved through an overseas shell company. The account holder’s name is Kaiya Johnston, right?”

Bella’s face turned ashen.

“You—how do you know—”

“I suggest finding a competent financial advisor,” Natalie continued smoothly as the elevator arrived. She stepped inside and turned to face Bella. “That Swiss bank is under investigation for anti-money laundering, and your account has been flagged. I’d move the money fast if I were you. Then again…”

She smiled innocently.

“Where would you move it to? I’ve already flagged every domestic account you can touch. Apart from the Alexander Group’s company account, you can’t access a single penny.”

The elevator doors slid closed.

Bella stood outside, leaning against the wall as if all the strength had drained out of her.

When Natalie walked out of the building, Grey’s car was parked in the same spot. He was in the driver’s seat, smoking—window cracked just enough for him to tap ash into a small box outside, maintaining some semblance of decorum.

She opened the car door and got in.

“All done?” he asked.

“All done.”

Grey stubbed out his cigarette and started the car, then asked again, “Where to?”

Natalie thought for a moment and gave him an address. “Eastside, Connington Asylum. I want to visit Kaiya.”

Grey paused.

“I told you, she’s not really up for visitors—”

“I’m not a visitor.” Natalie fastened her seatbelt. “I’m your wife.”

Grey stared at her for a few seconds. “You really want to go?”

“Really.”

He sighed, tossed the cigarette pack into the glove compartment, and stepped on the accelerator.

It took about forty minutes to drive from the Alexander Group to Connington Asylum.

For the first part of the drive, they didn’t talk much. Grey turned on the stereo, playing classic rock at a low volume—perfect as background music.

Natalie scrolled through her phone. On the Silver Wing channel, “Finley” had sent a new message: “Green Snake and Iron Head were spotted last night on the east side at a nursing home. Be careful, President.”

Her fingers paused.

Eastside.

Nursing home.

Connington?

Without betraying any emotion, she put her phone away and glanced at Grey.

He was focused on the road, his profile sharply defined in the afternoon light. Strong nose bridge. Unusually long lashes for a man.

“Grey,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Who arranged for Kaiya to be at Connington?”

“The family did. The main branch funded it, got her the best specialists.” Grey hesitated. “But I’ve always felt something wasn’t right about that place. Her condition has only gotten worse since she moved in. Two years ago, she could still manage simple conversations. Now she barely speaks at all.”

Natalie tapped her fingers lightly against her knee. “Are there always medical staff with her when you visit?”

“Yeah. There’s always a head nurse named Fane around, monitoring her vitals.”

“Nurse Fane?” Natalie probed. “Tall, slim, in her forties, with a mole on her right eyebrow?”

Grey sharply turned his head. “You know her?”

Natalie didn’t answer. She just turned her gaze back out the window.

“Drive faster.”

Grey sensed the urgency in her tone and didn’t ask more questions. He floored the accelerator.

The car weaved through the afternoon traffic and finally stopped in front of Connington Asylum.

It was a seven-story gray-and-white building, tucked into a quiet neighborhood and surrounded by tall sycamore trees. The leaves, half yellow with autumn’s onset, carpeted the ground.

It looked like any other upscale private facility.

Natalie got out of the car, looking up at the building. Her pupils contracted slightly.

An outsider wouldn’t notice, but she saw it immediately—the subtle reinforcement between the fourth and fifth floors, an added layer of bulletproof steel.

The rooftop air conditioner units were arranged wrong. One was probably a decoy, housing surveillance equipment.

This place masqueraded as a nursing home, but it was really a base of operations.

“Let’s go.” She tugged at Grey’s wrist, leading him inside.

Grey stumbled slightly, glancing down at where she grasped his wrist.

Her grip was strong. Her fingertips were calloused from years of wielding a knife.

The front desk check-in went smoothly. Grey was Kaiya’s direct relative, and Natalie entered the elevator alongside him as ‘family accompaniment.’

The elevator had surveillance. Natalie discreetly checked the camera’s angle, stood in a blind spot, and pulled a small, coin-sized white patch from her bag. She stuck it in the corner of the elevator.

A signal jammer.

“Which floor?” she asked.

“Fifth.” Grey pressed the button.

As the elevator ascended, Natalie noticed the floor display jump from ‘3’ straight to ‘5,’ skipping ‘4.’

She understood now.

The fourth floor was the true core of the building, housing all the unconventional activities, erased from the external indicators.

When they arrived on the fifth floor, the hallway was quiet. The air carried the scent of disinfectant and a faint, medicinal undertone.

At the end of the corridor, in the second-to-last room, stood a woman in a white coat. Mole on her right eyebrow. Slim. In her forties.

Nurse Fane.

“Mr. Ford,” Nurse Fane greeted with a professional smile. “You’re earlier than usual. And this is…?”

“My wife,” Grey introduced.

Nurse Fane’s gaze lingered on Natalie’s face. A flash of something unreadable crossed her eyes before her smile deepened. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ford. Miss Kaiya is doing okay today. She just took her midday medication and is resting.”

Natalie nodded. “We’d like to see her.”

“Of course. I’ll accompany you both.”

The moment the door to the room opened, Natalie felt something was off.

The room was tidy. Curtains drawn. Light dim.

On the bed sat a frail woman in a blue-and-white striped hospital gown, her hair cropped short, lifeless and straw-like.

Huddled at the head of the bed, she stared blankly at a corner of the room, lips moving slightly, muttering something unintelligible.

Grey walked over, his voice soft. “Kaiya, it’s your brother. I’ve come to see you.”

Kaiya showed no reaction.

Standing in the doorway, Natalie’s eyes quickly scanned the room—a glass of water with a thin layer of white sediment at the bottom sat on the bedside table.

On the windowsill, a pot of devil’s ivy had yellowing edges, as if it had been burned by something.

In the corner was a nondescript cable. Its proximity to an outlet produced a faint electric hum—not typical for regular wiring.

Nurse Fane stood half a step behind her, smiling. “Mrs. Ford, would you like to sit down? Miss Kaiya needs quiet, and standing here might stress her.”

Natalie turned back, meeting Nurse Fane’s eyes.

“Nurse Fane, I have a question.”

“Yes, please.”

“The water on her bedside table.” Natalie nodded toward it. “What medication is in it?”

Nurse Fane’s smile didn’t waver. “A sedative. Miss Kaiya takes it every noon.”

“What’s in it?”

“Well… you’d have to ask the attending physician for specifics. I just deliver the medication.”

Natalie didn’t press further. She walked over to the bed.

Kaiya remained unresponsive, but Natalie noticed the slight tremor in her fingers—not the kind caused by illness, but rhythmic. Like Morse code tapping.

Index finger. Middle finger. Index finger. Index finger. Middle finger.

Pause.

Repeat.

Natalie’s pupils contracted slightly.

It was the Silver Wing internal distress signal, meaning: ‘Being monitored, don’t speak.’

Without giving anything away, she retracted her gaze and gently held Kaiya’s hand.

Kaiya’s fingers paused, then squeezed back forcefully, nails digging into Natalie’s palm.

The pressure was too precise—unlike a mentally ill patient’s subconscious grasp.

Natalie’s mind made a quick assessment.

She stood, smiling at Grey. “Let’s go. Let Kaiya rest.”

Grey frowned. “We just got here—”

“Let her rest.” Natalie was already at the doorway, looking over her shoulder at Nurse Fane. “Thank you, Nurse Fane. By the way, that devil’s ivy isn’t doing well. Its leaves are yellow. Maybe change the pot?”

Nurse Fane’s smile strained for a moment. “Sure. I’ll do that later.”

Natalie pulled Grey out of the room.

In the elevator, Grey lowered his voice. “Why did you mention the devil’s ivy?”

Natalie pressed the button for the first floor and didn’t answer until the doors closed behind them. Leaning against the elevator wall, she opened her right hand, showing Grey a crumpled piece of paper with yellow edges, clearly torn from somewhere.

Grey’s pupils contracted. “What’s that?”

“Your sister slipped it to me.”

Natalie unfolded the paper, revealing a single line of scrawling text, as if written with a non-dominant hand—

“Basement of the fourth floor. Come at night. Don’t bring anyone. Bring Grey.”

Grey’s face changed completely.