Garrison Reeves, always second best, despised the label. Surpassing Leland Burns was harder than finding Winifred Dawson.
That night, Garrison Reeves planned to leave Peachshire Town and head abroad. His private flight was scheduled for ten o’clock.
He didn’t have much to pack, just some work documents. His assistant was handling it while Garrison listened to a report on the balcony after dinner. It was only eight o’clock.
Suddenly, there was a commotion outside. A servant rushed in, calling out, “Mr. Reeves.”
“What’s all the fuss about? Speak directly.”
“Mr. Reeves, a black car just pulled up at the gate. Without a word, they opened the door and threw out a sack before driving off.”
“What’s in the sack?” Garrison stood up, frowning. He hadn’t recovered from an unpleasant incident earlier in the day and his tone was impatient.
“I didn’t dare look. The sack is still there. Mr. Reeves, should we call the police? What if it’s something dangerous?” The servant asked cautiously.
Such things had happened before-some disgruntled individuals targeting the wealthy by leaving dangerous items in sacks.
Garrison Reeves’s face darkened with frustration at their incompetence. They couldn’t even secure the gate and allowed strangers to drive in and dump a sack without anyone daring to check it. What was he paying them for?
With a stern expression and sharp eyes, Garrison’s gaze made the servant step back in fear.
Finally, his assistant intervened, “Mr. Reeves, let me go check it out.”
“We’ll go together.”
Garrison loosened his tie and strode outside with his assistant following closely.
By eight o’clock, it was already pitch dark outside with only a few streetlights illuminating the area. The moonless night and the solitary sack on the ground created an eerie atmosphere.
Initially unfazed, Garrison grew cautious as he approached the sack influenced by his assistant and servant’s nervousness.
A car suddenly arriving at night to drop off a large sack at his doorstep was suspicious.
Garrison nudged the sack with his foot; it moved slightly.
The servant gasped, “It moved… there’s something alive inside…”
Garrison shot her a cold glance, silencing her immediately.
He stepped back to see what was inside.
“Open the sack,” he ordered.
The assistant hesitated but complied, revealing a mass of black hair under the light.
“It’s a person,” he said as the sack moved again, confirming it contained someone alive.
Garrison’s frown deepened. Who would be so bored as to stuff a person into a sack and dump it at his place? This was troublemaking at its finest.
As he focused on the person inside, his assistant added, “Mr. Reeves, it’s a woman…”
“A woman?” Garrison’s heart tightened. “Let me see.”
The assistant carefully removed the sack, revealing a woman with disheveled long hair covering her face. Under the light, her pale skin and frail frame were visible through her tattered floral dress; her legs were thin as arms.
The sight of a woman in such condition inside a sack was unsettling. The assistant immediately thought of calling the police.
Garrison knelt beside her, hoping this wasn’t another disappointment.
“Mr. Reeves, should we call the police…”
Hands trembling, Garrison ignored his assistant’s question and gently brushed aside her hair to see her face. His heart clenched painfully.
Without hesitation, Garrison scooped up the woman and headed inside, face stern as he commanded, “No one is to speak of this tonight! Keep your mouths shut!”
“Yes…”
Who was this woman that made Garrison so tense? His reaction indicated he knew her well and she held significant importance to him.
Despite her dirty appearance and smell, Garrison carried her to his room and laid her on the bed.
The assistant followed, surprised by Garrison’s emotional display. Wealthy people like him often had a touch of OCD-changing clothes daily and keeping everything spotless with dedicated staff for their needs.
Yet here he was, disregarding all that for this woman who looked like a beggar.
Watching Garrison’s worried demeanor sparked an idea in the assistant’s mind-could this be Winifred Dawson?
Everyone knew Garrison had been searching for Winifred Dawson. The assistant recalled being tasked recently with arranging a tombstone for her-a clue that linked everything together easily.
He had seen photos of Winifred Dawson-a stunning beauty unforgettable at first glance. But this bedraggled woman bore no resemblance except for being female.
Her filthy state with a long scar on her face made it impossible to identify if she was Winifred Dawson; there wasn’t an ounce of beauty left in her appearance.
Seeing Garrison’s careful actions made the assistant swallow his questions and instruct the servant to prepare hot water in the bathroom.
Once alone again with Garrison, he asked quietly, “Mr. Reeves, should we call a doctor?”
“No need; fewer people know about tonight’s events, the better. Erase all surveillance footage around here immediately; make sure nothing leaks out,” Garrison replied while watching over the unconscious woman tenderly yet unsure how to touch her without causing harm.