Getting back to his motel room, Jayson glanced at his watch—11:37 PM. Sleep wasn't coming. 
He unlocked his phone screen. Zoomed in the screenshot of Tyrone, "Just who are you? Why do you look familiar? Just maybe if I can find where the money leads, I can find the connection."
He pulled his laptop from his bag and settled onto the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight.
"Alright, Cedric. Let's see where the money leads," he muttered, typing 'Donovan Lewis' into the search bar.
The results populated instantly. Donovan's campaign photo dominated the screen—perfect white teeth, white hair, the kind of manufactured sincerity that won elections. The headline below read: "Lewis to Lead Polls in Gubernatorial."
Jayson clicked through several articles, scanning for anything connecting Lewis to Cedric's disappearance six months ago. Most were puff pieces about charity galas or policy positions. Then a smaller headline caught his eye: "Lewis Announces $6 Billion Orphanage Renovation Project."
The timing matched.
Jayson leaned closer to the screen, reading intently. According to the article, Lewis had championed a massive spending initiative to "revitalize and modernize" the Portovenan Children's Home, a century-old institution on the city's east side. The project had broken ground six months ago—precisely when Cedric vanished.
"What the hell did you find, Cedric?" Jayson whispered.
He tried accessing the project's budget details, but most documents were locked behind government portals. The public information was vague—"state-of-the-art facilities," "comprehensive security systems," "specialized equipment."
For an orphanage, the security elements seemed excessive. The article mentioned "reinforced access points" and "classified safety protocols." Jayson's law enforcement instincts prickled.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number.
"What's up, Jay?" Orion's sleepy voice came through after four rings.
"Sorry for the late call. You still have access to the city records database?"
"You know it's midnight, right?" He paused. "Everything okay?"
"Just following a hunch. Need some quick information."
Orion sighed. "This better be important. What am I looking for?"
"Building permits and inspection records for the Portovenan Children's Home renovation project. Specifically, what equipment was purchased and installed."
"Isn't that the project Donovan Lewis has been bragging about? The $6 billion orphanage upgrade?"
"That's the one."
"Give me a minute." Jayson heard keyboard clicks in the background. "That's weird."
"What?"
"The permits are there, but they're classified. I've never seen that for a civilian building project."
Jayson's pulse quickened. "Can you access them?"
"Not without leaving a digital trail. Whatever's in there, someone doesn't want people looking at it." She paused. "Jay, what are you into?"
"Just connecting some dots. Thanks, Orion. I owe you."
"Wait—" he started, but Jayson ended the call.
He stared at the orphanage's address on his screen. The smart move would be to wait until morning, maybe drive by casually during daylight. But if this connected to Cedric's disappearance, he couldn't risk being recognized. His cover story of being out of town meant he needed to stay in the shadows.
"Screw it," he muttered, grabbing his jacket.
---
The Portovenan Children's Home stood at the end of a tree-lined drive, a grand sentimental structure that had once housed the city's elite before being converted to an orphanage in the 2000s. Security lights illuminated the grounds, and a newly installed fence surrounded the property.
The sign at the entrance read "PORTOVENAN CHILDREN'S HOME: REBUILDING FUTURES TOGETHER" with Donovan Lewis's name prominently displayed beneath.
Jayson parked his rental car two blocks away and approached on foot, keeping to the shadows. The renovation had clearly been extensive—new windows, reinforced doors, and what looked like scanner panels beside each entrance. For an orphanage, it resembled a military installation.
Most concerning: no sounds of children. At 1:15 AM, the place should be quiet, but institutions housing children had a particular feel—night lights, staff moving between rooms, the occasional cry from a nightmare. This place felt sterile. Empty.
Jayson circled the building, looking for a way in. Near the rear, he spotted a service entrance where the electronic lock appeared less sophisticated. Using skills he'd learned in his undercover days, he bypassed the system and slipped inside.
The interior was immaculate—polished floors, fresh paint, new fixtures. But something felt off. The walls were thicker than they should be, and the doors had reinforcement that no children's facility would require.
Jayson moved silently through the corridor, listening for any signs of life. A faint murmur of voices drew him toward a room at the end of the hall. He approached cautiously, keeping his back to the wall.
The door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, he could make out several men in expensive suits gathered around a table covered with documents. Jayson recognized one immediately: Tyrone.
"The shipment leaves next tomorrow - Meadowbrook," Tyrone was saying. "Custom officials have been handled. Lewis wants everything in place before the election."
"What about the investigation?" another man asked. "That detective was asking questions at the dock."
"Resolved," Tyrone said flatly. "People who stick their noses where they don't belong tend to disappear in our city."
A chill ran down Jayson's spine. Were they talking about Cedric?
He leaned closer, straining to hear more, when a familiar voice cut through the room. Jayson froze.
"I want assurance this won't blow back on our department."
Chief Walter. Jayson's own boss was here, in a supposed orphanage, meeting with Tyrone in the middle of the night.
Jayson's mind raced. The corruption went higher than he'd imagined. He needed evidence—photos, recordings, anything. He carefully reached for his phone, angling to capture the meeting through the door crack.
As he positioned himself, the floorboard beneath him creaked.
The conversation inside stopped.
"Check the hall," Tyrone ordered.
Jayson backed away, looking for cover, but it was too late. The door swung open, and a man with a scarred face stepped out, eyes widening at the sight of Jayson.
"Intruder!" he shouted, reaching inside his jacket.
Jayson didn't wait. He drew his sidearm just as the man pulled his own weapon. The gunshot echoed through the corridor as Jayson dove for cover behind a corner. The bullet splintered the wall where he'd been standing.
Footsteps thundered down the hall as Jayson fired a return shot, not aiming to hit, just to buy time. He turned and sprinted toward the exit, bullets peppering the wall behind him.
He burst through the service door into the night air. Three black SUVs were parked in what should have been a playground. Men were already pouring out, weapons drawn.
Jayson cut across the lawn, vaulting the fence at its lowest point. A bullet whizzed past his ear as he landed, rolling to absorb the impact before scrambling to his feet.
The grounds offered little cover, but Jayson knew the area from studying maps earlier. He zigzagged between trees, making for the dense residential neighborhood beyond. Behind him, engines roared to life as his pursuers mobilized.
"Spread out!" he heard someone command. "Don't let him reach the main road!"
Jayson ducked between houses, cutting through backyards and jumping fences. His police training had prepared him for pursuits, but usually he was the chaser, not the target. He could hear vehicles circling, trying to cut him off.
After ten minutes of evasive movement, he paused behind a garden shed, catching his breath. He needed to contact someone with what he'd discovered, but who could he trust? His own chief was involved.
He pulled out his phone and texted the one person who can easily come up with answers for him.
TO: Orion 
Need urgent help. Research connection between Tyrone Martin and Donovan Lewis. Financial ties, business dealings, anything. 
`
Distant sirens wailed, growing closer. They must have called in local patrol units. Jayson couldn't risk staying in one place any longer.
Moving through shadows, he worked his way back toward his motel, taking a circuitous route to ensure he wasn't followed. Only when he was absolutely certain he'd lost his pursuers did he approach the run-down building where he'd been staying.
He slipped in through a side entrance, avoiding the night manager's desk, and made his way to his second-floor room. Inside, he dead-bolted the door and wedged a chair under the handle—a futile gesture if they found him, but it might buy precious seconds.
Jayson sank onto the bed, adrenaline still coursing through his system. His phone buzzed with a text from Orion:
```
FROM: Orion 
Jay, what the hell? It's 2AM. Looking now. Stay safe. Will contact you soon.
```
He stared at the ceiling, connecting the pieces. Donovan Lewis, the gubernatorial candidate, had funneled $6 billion into a fake orphanage. Tyrone was involved. And somehow, Chief Walter was mixed up in it too.
Whatever they were shipping next tomorrow, wasn't charity supplies.