The Barefoot Healer Exposed My Brother's Cruelty: He Paralyzed My Twins to Destroy My Empire, But Truth Had a Different Price
The following week, the silence from my usual network was deafening. Calls went unreturned. Invitations stopped arriving. My calendar, once a flurry of high-stakes meetings and social engagements, grew eerily sparse.
I tried to hire the best private investigators in the city, men and women I had used before for sensitive corporate matters. Each attempt met with a frustrating, almost identical wall.
My first call was to Sterling Investigations, led by the renowned Arthur Sterling. “Arthur, I need your team. Top priority. I need to track down Alistair Finch, and I need to find out who was pulling his strings.”
Arthur’s voice, usually brimming with confident efficiency, was hesitant. “Elias, I… I appreciate the offer. Truly. But we’re unfortunately overbooked at the moment. Several large cases. A conflict of interest, you understand.”
A conflict of interest. He wouldn’t elaborate. It was a thinly veiled excuse, one I heard repeatedly over the next few days.
I called three other top agencies. Each one cited “unforeseen scheduling conflicts,” “resource allocation issues,” or outright declined, stating they “weren’t equipped” for such a sensitive matter. It was a coordinated refusal, a chilling testament to Silas’s reach.
He wasn’t just influencing the board; he was poisoning the well of professional support, effectively creating a “no-fly zone” around my investigation. The thought that Silas had pre-emptively warned off every reputable firm in the city was a shocking demonstration of his silent power. It was a specific, deliberate act of sabotage, meant to cripple my ability to fight back before I even had a chance to start.
“Brenda,” I said one morning, pacing my office, “keep trying the other agencies. Expand the search. Look for smaller, independent firms. Anyone who hasn’t heard the whispers yet.”
Brenda looked up from her computer, her expression unusually grim. “Mr. Beaumont, I’ve been trying. It’s… difficult. One of my contacts, a former assistant from Price & Associates, called me yesterday. Off the record.”
I stopped pacing. “What did they say?”
“She warned me,” Brenda whispered, lowering her voice despite the closed door. “She said ‘powerful people’ were being instructed to distance themselves from you. Specifically, from any investigations you might be trying to launch. She wouldn’t name names, but she implied it was coming from… very high up.”
A cold dread seeped into my bones. Silas wasn’t just spreading rumors; he was actively sabotaging my efforts, cutting off my access to resources. This was a calculated, strategic move, designed to isolate me completely.
The casual betrayal by professional colleagues, the fear in Brenda’s contact’s voice – it all reinforced the personal cruelty of Silas’s unseen campaign. He was not just aiming for my empire; he was aiming to dismantle my support system, piece by piece, leaving me exposed and helpless. He was turning my own world into a trap.
I tried to reach out to other business contacts, men I had done favors for, men who owed me. Each conversation was polite, brief, and utterly unhelpful. They offered their sympathies but quickly changed the subject, pleading busy schedules or upcoming travel.
One afternoon, I called David Thorne, a developer I had personally mentored years ago. He had risen from obscurity thanks to a crucial early investment from me.
“David, it’s Elias. I need a favor,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
There was a long pause. “Elias. Of course. Anything for you, you know that.” His voice, however, lacked conviction.
“I need some discreet inquiries made, some doors opened that seem to be closing. I believe someone is actively working to obstruct my investigation into what happened to Thomas and Eleanor.”
Another pause, even longer this time. Then David cleared his throat. “Elias, I… I can’t. My hands are tied. There are… certain pressures. You understand. My family. My business.”
“Pressures from whom, David?” I pressed, my heart sinking.
“I can’t say,” he insisted, his voice now strained, almost fearful. “Just… be careful, Elias. You’re up against something bigger than you know.”
He hung up before I could ask anything else. The call ended abruptly, leaving me with the chilling echo of his fear. It was a gut punch. David, who owed me everything, was too terrified to even name his oppressor. Silas was weaponizing fear and loyalty, turning my allies into unwilling pawns.
I looked out at the city skyline, the towering glass and steel monuments I had built. They felt like hollow shells now, symbols of a power that was rapidly eroding. Silas wasn’t just talking behind my back; he was actively dismantling my life, piece by piece, turning every connection into a broken link. He was isolating me so effectively that I was becoming a pariah in my own domain, a man shouting into the void. The walls were closing in, and I could feel the cold breath of solitude already on my neck.
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