Legally Bound

Chapter 8

For the first time in weeks, Alex felt alive.

He couldn’t stop smiling as he drove back to his hotel. It wasn’t much, a single name overheard between laughter and coffee but it was something. Lily Smith. Barton & Myers.

After so many dead ends, even the faintest lead felt like a breakthrough. He rolled down the window, letting the sharp Chicago air hit his face. Maybe Eileen was right, but hope had a way of showing up when you least expected it.

The moment he got to his room, he propped his phone against the lamp and started a group call with Eileen and Wilson. They answered almost at once; Eileen with her hair up, sipping coffee, and Wilson, shirtless on his couch, yawning like he’d just woken up.

“Breaking news,” Alex said, unable to hide his grin.

Eileen straightened immediately. “Don’t tell me you found her.”

“Not yet,” he said, pacing the room. “But I might be close. I was at that lawyers’ hangout this morning, and someone mentioned a Lily Smith working at Barton & Myers.”

Wilson blinked, now fully awake. “Barton & Myers? That’s one of the biggest firms in Chicago.”

“Exactly,” Alex said. “I checked their website, but her name isn’t there. Still, it’s the best lead I’ve had in weeks.”

Eileen smiled, proud. “That’s progress, Alex. Finally.”

Wilson grinned. “Leave it to my boy to pull a miracle out of thin air. You know what? I actually know someone there, an old college friend. I’ll give her a call, ask around, quietly.”

“Appreciate it, man,” Alex said.

Eileen added, “I’ll dig too. Maybe check LinkedIn or alumni posts someone must’ve tagged her somewhere.”

Alex nodded, feeling a faint sense of relief. “Thanks, both of you. I owe you one.”

“You owe us dinner,” Wilson said, stretching.

Eileen smirked. “You owe me more than dinner. If I hadn’t pushed you to go for that hangout, you’d probably still be brooding in your room.”

Alex chuckled. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“Never,” she said, grinning. “So next time I tell you to show up somewhere, don’t argue just go. Clearly, I’m your lucky charm.”

Wilson groaned. “Here we go again.”

The call ended with laughter and friendly bickering and for the first time in weeks, the silence that followed felt light.

By afternoon, Alex started to face reality. Chicago was no longer just a stopover it was a chapter. He’d been living out of a suitcase for two weeks, and the hotel, though elegant, had started to feel suffocating.

He picked up his phone and called his other assistant in New York. “Julia, I need you to find me something in downtown Chicago,” he said. “One bedroom. Discreet. Private parking. And make sure it doesn’t look like a crime scene. Also, I need some new clothes, I’m tired of these”

By evening, he was walking into a high-rise on the riverfront.

The apartment wasn’t overly grand, but it screamed money in its quiet way minimalist décor, full-height glass windows overlooking the skyline, a stocked wine fridge, and furniture that whispered Italian craftsmanship. The kind of place that said I belong to someone who’s used to having choices.

He ran a hand along the marble counter, impressed. Even when his father’s firm was in trouble, Alex knew how to maintain appearances.

Within hours, his assistant had arranged for his clothes and personal effects to be moved from the hotel. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, loosened his tie, and stood at the window watching the city lights flicker across the river.

For the first time, Chicago didn’t feel foreign. It felt like purpose.

Later that night, with a quiet jazz playlist humming in the background, Alex sat at his laptop, combing through Barton & Myers’ website. Nothing. No Lily Smith.

He checked staff pages, media features, alumni rosters nothing. He switched to LinkedIn, typing the name again and again. Dozens of results popped up, but none matched the face in his memory the fierce yet gentle girl who used to make textbooks sound like poetry even as at sixth grade.

Maybe she’d changed her name. Maybe she didn’t want to be found.

He didn’t blame her.

The next morning, he decided to take a closer look.

He dressed down; black cap, sunglasses, a crisp dark jacket. Not quite a disguise, but enough to dull the sharp edges of his identity.

Barton & Myers was a gleaming fortress of ambition. Glass, marble, whispers of power. The kind of building that made people lower their voices and adjust their suits when they walked in.

He approached the receptionist calmly. “Good morning,” he said smoothly. “I’m Alexander Cole. I’m visiting from a New York partnership firm. Wanted to drop off a proposal for your managing partners.”

The receptionist smiled politely. “Of course, Mr. Cole. You can leave it with me.”

He reached into his briefcase, pretending to fumble for a file then froze.

A tray on the counter beside her caught his eye. A label read simply: L. Smith.

His pulse kicked up.

“Would it be possible to leave it directly with the assistant handling the partner’s schedule?” he asked lightly. “I’d hate for it to get misplaced.”

“They’re all in a meeting at the moment,which may probably go on for the next 3-4 hours” she replied. “But if you leave your card, someone will reach out.”

He nodded, scribbled a fake number, thanked her, and left.

Outside, he exhaled slowly.

L. Smith. It could’ve been anyone but his gut said otherwise.

He was halfway to his car when his phone rang. Wilson.

“Talk to me,” Alex said, still walking.

“I got off the phone with my buddy at Barton & Myers,” Wilson said. “There is a Lily Smith there.”

Alex’s heartbeat quickened. “And?”

“And she’s told everyone she’s not related to that Smith family. You know, Ray Smith. My friend said she even gets defensive if someone asks. So maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “Or maybe she’s protecting herself.”

Wilson sighed. “I knew you’d say that. Just don’t get your hopes up too high, man.”

“Yeah,” Alex muttered. “Thanks, Will.”

He hung up, eyes locked on the Barton & Myers building. The sunlight gleamed off the glass, harsh and blinding.

His phone buzzed again, Dad.

“Any progress?” came the deep, commanding voice.

“A lead,” Alex said evenly.

“Then make it certain,” his father replied. “The firm’s running out of time. Don’t come back empty-handed.”

The call ended before Alex could speak.

As he was about to slip his phone into his pocket, he saw a notification from Eileen; “You’ve got this Lexy, rooting for you.”

“Lexy” that made him chuckle, Eileen had a special skill of making nicknames randomly.

He slipped his phone into his pocket, straightened his jacket, and stared at the reflection of the skyscraper in his car window; tall, elegant, impossible.

“Almost there,” he murmured.

He slid into the car, the city lights dancing across the hood like faint promises.

And for the first time in weeks, his determination felt sharper than his exhaustion.

He wasn’t leaving Chicago anytime soon.