Page 15 of Stealthy Seduction
“Can you tell me more about that?” Her tongue was dry, and she took a sip of the latte but didn’t register the taste.
He sipped his drink too. “They had maybe thirty seconds’ warning before the whole building came down.”
The crystal grew warm beneath her fingers. She pressed harder, using the slight discomfort to anchor herself in the present.
“The woman in charge—Miriam Sheen—she was trapped under debris. I stayed with her, tried everything I could, but…”
Izzy’s professional instincts kicked in despite her internal struggle. “What happened to her?”
“She didn’t make it.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I held her hand while she died, promised her I’d continue the work we’d started there. The whole thing was captured on someone’s phone, went viral on social media for about five minutes before the next crisis pushed it out of the news cycle.”
The mention of social media sparked something in Izzy’s journalistic mind. A bombing at a Red Cross station, a doctor’s heroic efforts caught on camera but ignored by major outlets—that was the kind of story that should have made headlines.
“When I came back to the States,” Sam continued, “I honestly wasn’t sure what to do with myself. Everything here seemed so…trivial compared to what I’d left behind. But then, about six months later, I got a call from a lawyer representing an anonymous donor. Someone had seen the footage, been moved by what happened and wanted to fund a charity under mydirection and to honor Miriam’s memory. That’s when I founded Rescue Health Alliance. We have clinics in three cities along the East Coast.”
Alarm bells began ringing in Izzy’s head, cutting through the lingering fog of her panic. Anonymous donors with enough money to fund entire medical facilities didn’t just appear out of nowhere. And the timing—six months after a viral video—felt calculated.
“That’s incredible,” she managed, her reporter’s instincts now fully engaged. “You must have been amazed by such generosity.”
“I still am. The donor has been completely hands-off, never even wanted to meet me. Just wanted to make sure the clinic serves the people who need it most.”
Izzy made a note, her handwriting steadier now that she had something concrete to focus on. Anonymous. Hands-off. Red flags were practically waving in her peripheral vision.
“Well, Dr. Webb—Sam—this has been incredibly enlightening.” She clicked off the camera and began gathering her things. “Thank you so much for your time.”
“That’s it?” Sam looked surprised. “I thought you’d want to tour the closest facility, maybe talk to some of the staff?”
“I think I have everything I need for now.” Izzy stood, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I may follow up with some additional questions later, if that’s all right?”
He smiled again, eyes crinkling. “Of course. Anytime.”
The drive back to the station gave Izzy time to process what she’d learned. By the time she reached her desk, her panic had faded, replaced by the familiar thrill of following a lead.
She pulled up a new search on her computer and began digging.
The law firm representing the charity account was easy enough to find—Hartwell and Associates, a midsized firm specializing in estate planning and corporate law. The attorney handling the charity was James Hartwell himself, the senior partner.
But as Izzy dug deeper, the trail became even more interesting. Hartwell and Associates managed an unnamed trust that donated to the charity. A trust that had been formed just seven months ago. Right around the time Dr. Webb would have received his mysterious phone call offering him a place at his own facility.
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the screen. Shell companies weren’t uncommon in charitable work—plenty of wealthy donors preferred anonymity. But something about this felt off. The timing was too convenient, the paper trail too clean.
For a moment, she considered backing away. She could write a nice fluff piece about the charity, focus on the good work they were doing without digging into the funding source. It would be safe. Easy. No one would question her if she just…let it go.
The thought was tempting. She could feel the familiar urge to retreat, to find somewhere safe and quiet where Syria and anonymous donors and investigative journalism couldn’t touch her.
But that was exactly why she couldn’t walk away.
Izzy had built her career on trusting her instincts, on following stories that felt important even when they seemed impossible. And right now, every instinct she had was screaming that this was bigger than a simple charitable donation.
Webb’s mention of Syria, the viral video that had somehow escaped major news coverage, the anonymous donor appearingatjustthe right moment—it all felt too orchestrated to be a coincidence.
And if there was one thing her time in captivity had taught her, it was that coincidences were rarely innocent. Even if the charity and Dr. Samuel Webb seemed to be doing important work. Good work.
She picked up her phone and dialed Hartwell and Associates.
“How may I direct your call?”
“Hi, this is Callie Northwood from Channel 7 News. I’m working on a story about Rescue Health Alliance, a charity founded by Dr. Samuel Webb, and I was hoping to schedule a brief interview with Mr. James Hartwell about his client’s charitable contribution.”
