Chapter 8 - Emily's Mother Was on the List
We found Emily at the family assistance center shortly after seven.
The officer assigned to protect her had been transferred to another desk without explanation. The staff insisted she had been taken to a quiet room because she was tired, but the room was empty.
My heart lurched.
“Where is she?”
A receptionist checked the intake records.
“She was collected by a woman who identified herself as a social worker.”
“Name?”
“Eleanor Bennett.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“That's not a real name.”
Marcus was already moving toward the exit.
I caught his arm.
“Wait.”
He turned on me.
“She's my sister.”
“And she's Lucas's only connection to the people who know where he is. We don't charge blindly into another trap.”
His face twisted with anger.
“Then what do you suggest? Sitting here while they take another child?”
I understood his fury because it was burning inside me too.
But anger had already cost us one year with Lucas.
I forced myself to think.
“Whoever collected Emily needed access to the center's visitor records. They knew she was here, and they knew the name of the assigned officer. That information came from someone inside the system.”
I turned to the receptionist.
“May I see the visitor register?”
She hesitated, then pulled up the digital record.
The authorization had come from a state family services supervisor.
The supervisor's electronic signature belonged to a woman who had died two months earlier.
The person who collected Emily had used a false identity and an expired credential number.
I copied the available details and contacted the Chicago Police Department.
This time, I didn't ask for a general search.
I requested immediate assistance locating a missing child who might have been abducted by someone impersonating a social worker.
Within minutes, the police located the vehicle.
It was parked behind a closed shopping center six miles away.
We arrived to find the car abandoned.
The rear seat was empty.
On the floor lay Emily's plastic bag, the one she had carried when she first approached me in the rain.
I picked it up.
Inside was a child's drawing.
Three people stood beneath a streetlamp.
A soldier.
A little girl.
A boy.
Across the top, in uneven letters, Emily had written:
WE ARE NOT ALONE ANYMORE.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Then Marcus found a small envelope tucked behind the bag's torn lining.
Inside was a handwritten address and a photograph of a woman holding a baby.
The woman had dark hair and frightened eyes.
Her face looked remarkably like Emily's.
On the back of the photograph was a message.
For the day your daughter finds her brother.
I turned it over.
“Sarah Miller,” I whispered.
My mother took the photograph from me.
“She was part of the program. I helped her escape twelve years ago.”
“Why?”
“Because she had discovered that children were being transferred between foster homes under false identities. Some were taken from families who had reported suspicious military activity. Others were the children of whistleblowers.”
“Emily's father?”
“Daniel tried to expose the network. Sarah discovered how it was operating through the child welfare system.”
I looked at Marcus.
His eyes were fixed on the photograph.
“Why didn't you tell me about Emily?” I asked my mother.
“Because I didn't know she had survived.”
Marcus snapped.
“You knew enough to know she existed.”
My mother absorbed his anger without flinching.
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the people who took your father were searching for every person connected to him. The safest thing I could do was allow them to believe he had no surviving family.”
Marcus looked as though he wanted to tear the room apart.
Instead, he folded the photograph and placed it carefully in his pocket.
“I don't care about the past anymore,” he said. “I want my sister back.”
“So do I,” I replied.
He turned toward me.
“You're not her family.”
“No. But Lucas trusted her. And anyone who helps my son deserves the same protection I would give him.”
For the first time that day, Marcus looked at me without suspicion.
Then his phone rang.
An unknown number.
He answered.
A little voice came through the speaker.
“Marcus?”
His face crumpled.
“Emily?”
“I'm sorry.”
“Sweetheart, where are you?”
“I didn't mean to make everyone look for me.”
“Emily, listen to me. You haven't done anything wrong.”
A sound of movement came through the phone.
Then a woman's voice spoke.
“Marcus Reed. You have your father's eyes.”
Marcus went rigid.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Sarah.”
He closed his eyes.
“Mom?”
The voice broke.
“I'm sorry I couldn't find you. I'm sorry I couldn't keep Emily safe.”
“Where are you?”
“I don't have much time.”
I moved closer to the phone.
“Sarah, my name is Sebastian Ross. I'm trying to find my son, Lucas. Emily has been helping me.”
A pause.
Then Sarah spoke very softly.
“If Emily trusts you, then I'll trust you too.”
“Where are you?”
“Not somewhere safe.”
“Tell me what you know about General Hale.”
The silence stretched.
Then she said, “There is no General Hale anymore.”
My mother pressed a hand against her mouth.
Sarah continued.
“The real Richard Hale died at Fort Bragg. Daniel took his identity because it was the only way to get inside the network and identify the people who were selling children.”
Marcus's face went white.
“Why didn't he come home?”
“Because the people who built the program were protected by men far more powerful than the general whose name he took. Daniel believed that if he returned, the network would destroy our family.”
“Then where is he?”
Sarah inhaled shakily.
“Working to bring it down.”
“Why did he take Lucas?”
“He didn't.”
I felt the words like a physical blow.
“Sarah, Lucas was taken from a church under the orders of General Hale.”
“Yes,” she said. “But Daniel isn't the man who controls those orders anymore. Someone has stolen his identity.”
The phone crackled.
A door opened somewhere near her.
Sarah's voice suddenly sharpened.
“They're here.”
“Sarah, wait!”
“One thing, Sebastian. The person running the network now is not a general, a contractor, or an intelligence officer.”
“What is he?”
“A parent.”
I froze.
“Whose parent?”
Sarah began to cry.
“The parent of the first child who disappeared.”
The call ended.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Then Marcus looked at me.
“Who was the first child?”
My mother stared toward the window.
“Your father's first assignment was to locate a missing little boy whose entire family had been erased from public records.”
“Who was the boy?”
She looked back at me.
May you like
Her expression was filled with a grief I had never seen before.
“Sebastian,” she whispered, “the child was you.”
