**Chapter 252**
Gordon paused, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Mr. Sterling, do you have any suspicions regarding the circumstances surrounding Ms. Wilson’s parents’ deaths?”
Caleb’s expression shifted, shadows creeping into his features. “Indeed,” he replied, his voice low and intense. “Unraveling this will not be straightforward, but for now, it must take precedence.”
He felt the weight of his deceit toward Sydney settle heavily on his shoulders once more. Gordon had always been adept at tracking individuals, but he had never turned his attention toward the tragic incident that had claimed her parents’ lives.
Yet, Caleb understood that he needed a compelling reason to keep Sydney close to him. Deep within, he was convinced that their deaths were no mere accident. The thought of vengeance simmered in his heart; he intended to be the one to exact it.
After a moment’s contemplation, he added, “Also, investigate the Sterling family.”
Penelope had once caught wind of something unsettling at the orphanage—Eloise’s decision to adopt Sydney was somehow linked to a notorious drug lord. If that connection held any truth, it was possible that Eloise’s influence reached far enough to cast a shadow over the circumstances of Sydney’s parents’ demise.
The mere notion sent a shiver down Caleb’s spine, prompting him to glance toward the master bedroom, where Sydney and Julian had only just begun to mend their fractured relationship. The implications were staggering; if the truth were to emerge, revealing that her parents’ tragic end was intertwined with his grandmother’s actions…
Gordon seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. “If it does trace back to Madam Sterling, do you think Ms. Wilson can handle that revelation?”
Eloise was not just any grandmother; she was Julian’s grandmother, and Sydney had spent her formative years under her roof.
Caleb lowered his voice, a steely resolve hardening his tone. “First, we need to uncover the truth. Until that moment arrives, she remains blissfully unaware.”
With that, he terminated the call, a sense of finality hanging in the air.


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