A Woman Worth Billions Dated the Wrong Brother novel Chapter 382

Amber POV

We searched every property connected to the name Jacob Sin.

Every single one.

Warehouses were entered by tactical teams. Apartments were cleared room by room. Houses that had sat apparently empty for years were searched from attic to basement. Commercial properties were checked, storage units opened, underground garages inspected.

Nothing.

No Jason.

No Mr. White.

Not even evidence that either of them had recently been there.

By the time the final team reported back, I was sitting upright in my hospital bed with my laptop balanced across my legs, staring at another useless camera feed.

"Clear," the officer said.

I closed my eyes.

That was the last property.

Pamela lowered her tablet.

Marcus said nothing.

Nobody needed to.

We had followed Oscar's only useful lead and found absolutely nothing.

"Check them again."

Marcus looked at me.

"Amber."

"Check them again."

"We had tactical teams physically enter every location."

"Then find properties connected indirectly. Companies owned by Jacob Sin. People associated with the name. Previous owners. Rental agreements. Anything."

"We're doing that."

I knew.

That was the worst part.

Everyone was doing everything they could.

Jason was still gone.

My phone remained beside me with the volume turned all the way up. Every time it lit, my heart jumped.

Every time the caller wasn't Jason, something inside me sank a little further.

Mrs. Sun had stopped asking whether I wanted food.

Now she simply put it in front of me and stared until I ate.

Grandpa had barely left the hospital since arriving. Mr. Sun seemed to have aged ten years in two days.

The children were trying.

That somehow hurt more.

Alice drew pictures for Jason.

Rose sat beside her and helped.

Alex kept asking Marcus questions about the search—not emotional questions, but logistical ones. How many people were looking? How many cameras had been checked? Did Jason have emergency trackers?

I recognized what he was doing.

Turning fear into information.

Apparently, it ran in the family.

And Iris understood enough not to tell him everything was going to be okay when none of us knew that.

I hated that my children were learning how to wait for someone to come home.

The call came that afternoon.

Not from Jason.

Mr. Stait.

"Alexander Vincent is talking."

I stared at him through the screen.

"About Jason?"

"I don't know yet."

My disappointment must have shown because he immediately continued.

"But he specifically asked for you."

"Why?"

"He says he has information."

That got my attention.

"What kind?"

"He won't tell us."

Of course he wouldn't.

Alexander Vincent had spent his entire life treating information like currency.

Apparently, prison hadn't cured him.

"What's happening with his trial?"

Mr. Stait's expression hardened.

"He's accepting responsibility."

I actually laughed.

"Alexander?"

"Yes."

"Voluntarily?"

"Not exactly."

That sounded more believable.

The evidence Oliver had provided had destroyed him.

Alexander could deny accusations.

He could attack witness credibility.

He could blame his father, Mr. White, secondary families, employees, governments—anyone convenient.

What he couldn't explain away was his own operational planning.

His own files.

His own instructions.

His own improvements to the trafficking network.

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