Chapter 12: The Archivist's Discovery
Later that evening, after the reporters had slowly dispersed under the quiet persuasion of our estate security and the sheer, anticlimactic normality of a father holding his daughter in a garden, I retreated to my study. The mahogany desk was buried under stacks of financial ledgers and foundation reports, but my mind was entirely consumed by the boy. Who was Rohan? Where had he come from? Julian Vance sat in the leather wingback chair across from me, nursing a glass of scotch he hadn't touched.
"I ran every database available," Julian said quietly, tapping a slim manila folder against the desk. "Birth records, census data, immigration logs, local clinic admissions. Arthur, there is no official record of a child named Rohan living in this county. In fact, searching nationwide turns up nothing that matches his profile."
"That's impossible," I murmured, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the polished wood. "People don't just materialize out of thin air. He lives somewhere. He eats, he breathes, he wears clothes that look like they've been patched a hundred times."
"I sent a private investigator down to the old industrial district near the railyards," Julian continued, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "He found an abandoned brick warehouse on the edge of the district. The neighbors said a quiet family moved in a few months ago, working odd jobs, keeping entirely to themselves. But when our investigator went to check the address this afternoon, the building was completely empty. No furniture, no clothes, no trace anyone had ever lived there. Just a single white daisy left on the concrete floor."
I stared at the manila folder, feeling a cold shiver run down my spine. The image of the glowing magical sparkles on Emily's shoes flashed vividly in my mind—something I had dismissed as a trick of the evening light until I saw the medical scans Dr. Vance had pulled earlier that day. Emily's muscle mass had completely regenerated overnight. There was no scientific precedent, no medical explanation. There was only the boy.
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"Keep looking, Julian," I said, though I already knew in my gut the search was pointless. "Find out who landlords that warehouse. Find anyone who spoke to them."
"Arthur," Julian said softly, placing the folder down. "The board is convening an emergency meeting tomorrow morning. The video from the gates has three million views online already. They aren't just looking at a miracle; they're looking at a public relations nightmare for the foundation."
