"How's the task I gave you coming along?" Lawrence asked over the phone.
A long sigh came from the other end. "I'm just getting started," the voice replied wearily.
"Just let me know the moment you find anything," Lawrence said calmly.
"Yeah, got it."
He ended the call and sighed, resting the phone on the table beside him. He hadn't even gotten dressed yet—he was expecting a visitor.
A knock came on the door. "Sir, someone is here to see you. A Miss Sharlene Francisco."
Lawrence nodded. "Let her in. Thank you."
Moments later, the housekeeper led Sharlene into the sitting room.
"Good morning, Lawrence," Sharlene greeted politely.
Lawrence chuckled lightly. "Have you eaten?"
"No need to fuss—I already have. I won't stay long. I just came to talk."
Understanding, he motioned for the maid to leave them. Still, Sharlene remained standing.
"Please, have a seat," Lawrence offered with a warm smile.
"Thank you," she replied, finally sitting down. Her eyes wandered across the grand room, quietly absorbing the atmosphere.
"So, what did you want to talk about?"
"I know I may sound overly persistent... but I can't stay still anymore. You know I'm just an adopted child of the Rosario family," Sharlene began. Her voice was low, careful. "I don't remember much from my childhood, but I found something my grandmother wrote—a name. I was hoping you might recognize it."
She pulled out an old notebook and handed it to him.
Lawrence took it, curious, and opened it. Names greeted him—some familiar, some like echoes of a buried past. His gaze moved between the pages and Sharlene, brows slowly furrowing.
"I know it sounds crazy," she continued. "But... my grandmother could speak with lost souls. That's how she survived—by helping them. Her first clients were these two people."
He turned the page, reading:
Carmela Geraldine Santiago-Gonzalez
Donald Gian Gonzalez
Leah Harlene Martinez-Santiago
Fredrick Manuel Santiago and Angely Atienza-Santiago
"What is this?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
Sharlene shook her head. "I don't fully understand it either. But their names kept appearing."
As he read on, something inside him tensed. A deep, slow anger began to rise.
Lawrence sat back. "Santiago, Gonzalez, Martinez… and Francisco—your husband's surname. All prominent families in San Mateo."
She nodded.
"There's been a deep feud between the Gonzalez and Santiago families. It started decades ago. I was young then, but I remember whispers—about betrayal, about blood."
He paused, mind spinning. The notebook, the child, the missing couple. He stared at Sharlene.
She was adopted at three or four. Could it be...?
"Lawrence?" she asked softly.
He shook himself from the thought. "Sorry. Where were we?"
"You mentioned a missing child?"
He swallowed. "Yes. That couple—Carmela and Donald—were found dead. No one knew what happened to their child. The Santiagos were blamed, but the case was never solved."
He looked at her again, something tightening in his chest.
"Carmela… she was Manuel Santiago's youngest sister. And Leah—my cousin—was his wife. Carmela was already dead when Manuel married Leah."
"Was Leah's disappearance ever investigated?" Sharlene asked.
He hesitated, then shook his head. "No. Manuel claimed she ran off with another man. Even her own parents didn't question it. And then she supposedly sold land she owned—but the signature was hers, not her presence."
Sharlene's eyes darkened. "Lawrence, she didn't run away. She was buried alive."
His breath caught. The words echoed in his ears.
"Buried... alive?" he asked, his voice hollow.
She nodded, grief heavy in her eyes.
"By her ex-husband—and her best friend."
Silence.
Then, with a sudden roar, Lawrence's fist smashed into the glass table. Shards splintered outward.
"Lawrence!" Sharlene cried, rushing to his side. Blood trickled from his hand.
The maid appeared, alarmed, but Sharlene waved her off and quickly retrieved the first aid kit.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to upset you—"
"You didn't do this," Lawrence muttered through clenched teeth. "You didn't kill my cousin."
He looked at her, eyes wet with rage.
"Did your grandmother help Leah?"
"Yes. But when they tried to take it to court, she backed out. They were paid off, Lawrence. Bought silence."
He clenched his jaw.
"Do you know where she was buried?"
"No. But someone saw it happen."
"Who?"
Sharlene hesitated.
"Please, Sharlene. I need to know."
She took a breath. "Vivianne. She was there."
Lawrence stared down at his injured hand. The pain was nothing compared to what he felt inside.