Fated To My Billionaire Saviour

Chapter 7: Claim Her

ADRIAN

The drive back to the city passed quickly in a blur, but I was filled with rage, and a couple of plans ran through my mind. By the time Thomas dropped me at Cybweb Tower, I'd made three phone calls and started a background investigation that would make the FBI proud.

"Cancel my evening appointments," I told my assistant, Rebecca, as I strode through the executive floor. "And also," I turned to face her with a serious look on my face. “Get me everything you can find on Victor Dane, Marcus Mason, and Ella Devereaux. I want financial records, business partnerships, legal documents, every damn piece of information you can pull out."

"How far back, Sir?"

"As far as the records go."

In my office, I couldn't think straight. I paced back and forth behind my desk as Ella's face stayed glued to my head. I'd say her face haunted me, because why am I thinking of her this much?

A lot of memories flooded my brain: the way she'd flinched when Victor called her, the defeat in her eyes, and the spark of desperate hope that flashed on her face when I talked about her work at Morrison Gallery.

I'd built my entire life on reading people and understanding what motivated them. Victor Dane is a menace, and Ella Devereaux is nothing but his prey. But there is more to this than simple exploitation. It’s clear that the setup was well planned.

My phone buzzed. "Sir? I have some information." Rebecca’s voice echoed from the other end of the line.

"Send it up."

Ten minutes later, Rebecca placed a thick folder on my desk. "The basic information is all here, but sir…" She paused a bit.

“Go on.”

“Some of this information was very difficult to find; it seems someone's been erasing records."

“Hmmm,” I muttered as I opened the folder and started reading. Marcus Mason's company, Mason Enterprises, showed steady growth over the past five years, but the financial records were fishy.

I could detect that there have been large inflows of cash, which were followed by equally large unexplained expenditures. This could only mean money laundering.

Victor Dane's information was even more interesting. Dane Holdings had connections to shell companies across three continents. His art acquisitions often involved pieces that disappeared from public view immediately after he purchased them. And there have been whispers about people who went to work for him but were never seen again.

When I came to Ella’s file, I could feel my blood boil from beneath my skin.

She'd been a rising star in the textile design world, with pieces selling for impressive amounts at galleries across the country. Her mother had died when she was sixteen, and she'd put herself through art school on scholarships and by working three jobs. She'd been featured in Art Today magazine just eighteen months ago as "One to Watch."

Then, suddenly, she disappeared from the scene. She has not featured in any new gallery showings, she has no new commissions, and she has no social media presence. Like she'd simply vanished.

The timeframe and her connection with Marcus Mason aligned exactly.

"Son of a b***h," I muttered as I reached for my phone.

"Dominic, it's Adrian. I need a favor."

"What kind of favor?" My head of security's voice came up on the other end of the call. We had worked together for five years, and he knew how I reacted when things got messy.

"I need surveillance on Victor Dane's estate. It should be very discreet, as usual. I want to know who comes in and goes out, and I want to know the daily routines of everyone inside."

"Is this about a business deal?"

"It's about a woman who needs help."

"The kind of help that might get complicated?"

"No, Dominic, it’s the kind of help that's right."

"Alright, I'll have a team in place by morning."

After I hung up, I stared blankly at the windows. Somewhere out there, that son of a b***h, Marcus, was probably celebrating his engagement to Isabella Winters; he was probably lavishing the money he had stolen from the woman he betrayed. And Victor Dane must be sitting in his mansion, planning hurtful ways to break an already damaged spirit.

Dominic and his team were prompt in granting my request. When I sat in my office the next morning, the security footage flashed across my laptop screen, and I leaned closer to examine every frame.

What I saw made my blood run cold.

I could see Ella moving through the mansion like a ghost; she looked like someone that has been haunted.

"Jesus Christ, Victor," I screamed as I quickly rewound the footage to watch her discover something in her room. It was a recording device, no doubt. The bastard wasn't even trying to be gentle.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed, and Rebecca’s name showed clearly on the phone screen.

"Sir?"

"What is it?"

"Those files you requested? The ones about artists who've worked with private collectors in the past decade? I have them ready."

"Bring them in."

Rebecca entered my office with three thick manila folders. She didn’t look happy at all.

"This is disturbing, sir," she said as she placed the folders on my desk. "I had to dig deeper than I expected for some of these records. It's like somebody was trying to remove these people from existence."

I opened the first folder, and Sonia Marty was boldly written at the top. The records state that she’s a twenty-four-year-old promising textile artist. She was last seen entering a contract with Dane Holdings three years ago. But suddenly, her social media accounts were deleted, her exhibition history was wiped, and there was no family contact for over two years.

The second folder was Jon Mark’s folder. He was a twenty-six-year-old digital artist who disappeared into Victor's world eighteen months ago.

The third made my hands shake. Maya Rodri is a twenty-three-year-old sculptor. Her family had filed a missing persons report, but she had sent them a single letter where she claimed she was pursuing some art courses abroad, and she wanted no one to contact her.

"Rebecca, run background checks on every name in these files. Run checks on financial records, family connections, and any legal disputes. I want to know every damn piece of information."

"I thought you’d request this, so I already started, sir, and I think there’s a pattern." She said as she pulled out a separate sheet. "From my investigation, I noticed that every single one of these artists had family members who'd crossed paths with certain wealthy collectors, and they’ve had some history of art authentication disputes, forgery accusations, and estate claims."

"Are you insinuating revenge?" I asked her, although I already knew the answer.

"It looks like it. Their goal points to revenge.” She said firmly.

Hearing these words, my mind couldn’t help but flash back to Lucy Devereaux's frantic phone call three weeks before she died. She sounded terrified over the phone. She spoke of forged paintings that were being sold as originals; she also spoke about money being funneled through shell companies, and about her daughter being watched.

"My daughter is in danger," she said that fateful day. "They know I found their records, Adrian. If something happens to me, promise you'll protect Ella."

I couldn’t place all the pieces together, but I remembered I promised. And then a few weeks later, Lucy died in an accident, so they said, and Ella vanished from public view. She looked very much okay, absorbed in Marcus’s life.

I had actually kept tabs on her from a distance, as I didn’t want to interfere with her life; I just wanted to honor a dying woman's request. But the truth was more complicated.

In fact, I had been thinking about Ella Devereaux for months.

Her work at the Morrison Gallery sent chills down my spine. I think I had stood transfixed for God knows how long. The emotion she poured into the work was out of this world. Her work told a story that had a mix of loss, hope, and resilience. I couldn’t help but feel moved by every detail.

I didn’t just fall in love with the painting; I fell in love with the painter. But unfortunately, the gallery owner had stated that she was engaged to Marcus Mason when I had asked about commissioning a painting.

Well, I backed off, but I never stopped watching her from afar.

Now, as I stared at the security footage of her trapped in Victor's mansion, I just realized I made the biggest mistake of just watching her walk into danger

"Rebecca, I need you to arrange something for me."

"Alright, sir. What exactly is it?"

"I hear that Victor Dane is hosting a private art showing next week, and it’s strictly by invitation only," I said calmly as I raised my head and stared directly at her face. “I need an invitation."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's quite a…"

“Rebecca, just come up with something, anything,” I said, cutting her short. The least of things I needed right now was doubt.

"Okay, sir. And then what's next?"

"Then I'm going to get Ella Devereaux out of that house."