The guest bedroom in my Manhattan penthouse was vast, silent, and entirely unaccustomed to the sound of a child breathing
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Chapter 1 / 10
Chapter 1 - THE FRENCH LULLABYThe guest bedroom in my Manhattan penthouse was vast, silent, and entirely unaccustomed to the sound of a child breathing. Standing in the dark hallway outside the half-open door, my heart hammered against my ribs in a way no multi-million-dollar corporate negotiation had ever managed.
I quietly slipped into my study, switched on my desk lamp, and pulled out my encrypted laptop. If Lily had been found near a highway service station three years ago with designer clothes, and possessed memories of a wealthy European upbringing, her file at the East Side Children’s Home was a fabricated lie. Someone had wiped her slate clean. I dialed my private investigator, Marcus Vance, waking him up at two in the morning. "Marcus," I said, my voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "I need you to pull every cold case, missing persons report, and maritime disaster involving a blonde child in Europe and North America from five years ago. Look for the surname Dubois or Laurent. And look quietly."
