Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 371

Please Come Back, My Love

Chapter 371-

“Already on it.”

Hanging up, I immediately dialed my IT specialist, a former NSA contractor who I kept on retainer for exactly this kind of situation.

“I’m sending you a phone. I need everything on it–texts, emails, browsing history, every app, every file. Priority is a video that was received in the last hour.

‘How fast do you need it?”

“Yesterday.”

I’ll have my team standing by.”

The drive to the Greenwich safe house took fifteen minutes at speeds that would have gotten me arrested if I’d been anyone else. But I had lawyers for that,

fixers who could make traffic violations disappear. What I didn’t have was a way to undo whatever had been done to Rosa Cruz.

When I arrived at the house, Miguel was already gone–in the ambulance with his wife. My guards had secured the scene, and Bob met me at the door with

Rosa’s phone sealed in an evidence bag.

“Ethan’s people are on their way,” I said, taking the bag. “What else?”

“The father was hysterical. Kept saying ‘they killed her, they killed my daughter. We couldn’t get a coherent explanation.”

My blood ran cold. “Sophia’s fine. She’s at the Westchester estate.”

“I know, sir. But he seemed convinced- Bob pulled out his own phone, showing me a screenshot. “We managed to capture this before the phone locked. It was on the screen when Rosa dropped it.”

The image was grainy, clearly taken from a distance. But the figure in the frame was unmistakable–a woman with Sophia’s build, Sophia’s hair, stumbling backward as a dark vehicle sped away.

Below the image, a news chyron: WOMAN KILLED IN QUEENS HIT–AND–RUN.

‘Jesus Christ. I stared at the screen, my mind reeling. “This is fake.”

‘Sir?”

I pulled up my recent calls and dialed a number I’d hoped never to use again.

“Victor Ashford.”

“I need you to trace the origin of a video file sent to a specific phone number within the last two hours. And I need you to do it quietly.”

“Mr. Reynolds.” The former MI6 agent’s voice was professionally neutral. “I assume this is urgent?”

“Life or death.” I gave him the details–Rosa’s phone number, the approximate time of the video, the content. “Someone fabricated footage to make it look like Sophia Cruz was killed in a hit–and–run. Her mother saw it and had a massive asthma attack. She’s on her way to NewYork–Presbyterian now, prognosis unknown.”

Silence on the other end. Then: “That’s a sophisticated operation. Deep fake technology, news overlay, targeted delivery. You’re looking at someone with resources and technical knowledge.”

“Can you trace it or not?”

‘I can try. But if they used burner phones and offshore servers-”

“Do whatever it takes. Bill me whatever you need. I want a name.”

“Understood. I’ll start immediately.”