Chapter 4 - THE SAFEHOUSE BREAK-INMy apartment was a cramped, third-floor walk-up in an old brick building near the river. It wasn't luxurious, but it had heavy deadbolts, iron window bars, and—most importantly—it wasn't listed under my real name in any public database.
Leah sat at my small kitchen table, clutching a mug of black coffee that had long since gone cold. The wedding dress had been discarded in a corner, a ruined, mud-stained heap of white tulle and crushed silk that looked like a ghost shed its skin. She wore an oversized grey hoodie and sweatpants I’d lent her.
"Drink some water, Leah," I urged, setting a glass down next to her elbow while tapping furiously away on my laptop.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice hollow.
"Digging into Arthur Vance and the private adoption agency your mother used," I replied, the clack of keys filling the quiet room. "If Vance handled your mother’s estate and the adoption eleven years ago, there has to be a paper trail linking his firm to Noah’s foster placements. People like Daniel are arrogant. They bury things digitally, but they leave footprints."
Suddenly, the screen flickered. A secured database file from the state Department of Child and Family Services popped up, accessed through an emergency medical portal override I kept from my days working pediatric triage.
"Look at this," I muttered, leaning closer to the monitor.
Leah stood up, walking behind my chair. Her breath caught in her throat.
"That's... that's Noah's current placement file," she whispered.
"Read the guardian history," I instructed, pointing to the bottom of the screen.
Leah’s eyes scanned the text. Color drained entirely from her face.
Guardian Assigned: Daniel Reed. Date of Transfer: Three days prior to marriage. Status: Pre-adoptive foster placement, expedited via private legal decree.
"Three days before the wedding," Leah whispered, her hands gripping the back of my chair so tightly her knuckles turned translucent. "He didn't just meet Noah last month. He bought him. Or arranged for him to be placed directly into his custody right before we tied the knot, making him my legal step-father before I even knew the boy existed."
Before I could answer, a sharp, metallic clink echoed from the hallway outside my apartment door.
We both froze.
In the dead silence of 3:45 a.m., the sound of a pick sliding into a tumbler lock was unmistakable.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I grabbed a heavy iron skillet from the counter, motioning frantically for Leah to back into the tiny bathroom and lock the door.
May you like
Click.
The heavy deadbolt turned. The door slowly swung open, creaking on its hinges.
