Chapter 7 - The Man Who Wanted My Daughter BackJason's lawyer arrived at the hospital the following morning.
His name was Richard Sloane, a polished attorney with silver hair, an expensive watch, and the sort of calm confidence that made every sentence sound like a verdict.
He requested a private meeting.
I refused.
So he handed me a document instead.
It was an emergency application challenging my custody rights and alleging that I had unlawfully entered Jason's property, damaged private equipment, and removed Emily without permission.
At the bottom was a statement signed by Deputy Bell.
It claimed that Emily had been safely cared for by her mother and stepfather until I arrived in an agitated state and took her by force.
I read it twice.
Then I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because I suddenly understood how Jason had managed to keep this hidden for so long. He didn't need everyone to believe him. He only needed enough people to doubt the truth until the evidence disappeared.
Sloane watched me carefully.
"My client is extremely concerned about Emily's well-being," he said. "He is prepared to cooperate fully once the situation has been clarified."
"Where is Sarah?"
"Mrs. Carter's location is currently unknown."
"Your client knows exactly where she is."
"That's a serious accusation."
"Then let's discuss the body in his swimming pool."
His expression flickered.
Just for an instant.
I saw it.
"Human remains have not been formally identified," he said.
"But you know about them."
He stood.
"This conversation is over."
Before he left, he looked toward Emily's room.
"Your daughter may be confused," he said. "Children can be led to repeat stories they don't understand. Be careful about what you encourage her to believe."
I stepped between him and the door.
"Don't speak about her again."
He left without replying.
Less than an hour later, two uniformed officers arrived with an order permitting child-protection authorities to reassess Emily's placement while the custody dispute was reviewed.
They did not attempt to remove her immediately. Their supervisor contacted Detective Ortiz, who objected and requested that the state agency confirm the order's legal basis.
The officers waited.
I was grateful for Ortiz's intervention, but the situation made one thing painfully clear.
Jason was fighting on two fronts.
He was trying to silence the criminal investigation.
And he was trying to make me look like the danger.
That afternoon, Emily received a message from an unknown number.
The nurse brought it to me because it appeared on a tablet I'd borrowed from the hospital.
There was no greeting.
Only a photograph.
It showed our family standing outside the house on Emily's seventh birthday. Sarah and I were smiling, Emily was holding a cake, and the person taking the picture had stood close enough to capture the reflection in the front window.
Jason was not in the photograph.
But someone had written a message beneath it.
YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO ME. BRING IT HOME.
I called Ortiz.
She arrived within minutes and photographed the screen.
The message had come through an account created that morning. It could not be reliably traced yet.
"What does he want?" I asked.
"The original recording, probably."
"He has to know we copied the card."
"Maybe. Or he knows there may be another copy."
She looked at Emily.
"Does your mother have anything else hidden?"
Emily shook her head at first.
Then she remembered something.
"When Mommy was sewing Bluebird, she put something in the bird's other wing."
The technician had examined the toy's body but not the second wing, which appeared to have its original stitching.
They inspected it again.
Inside the wing was a folded strip of paper, small enough to hide beneath the stuffing.
It contained a phone number.
Below it, Sarah had written six words.
IF HE FINDS US, CALL THIS WOMAN.
Ortiz dialed the number from a secure phone.
A woman answered on the fourth ring.
When Ortiz identified herself, there was a long silence.
Then the woman said, "Is Sarah alive?"
"We're trying to find her."
The woman's voice cracked.
"Then you need to know who Jason really is."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Rebecca Miles."
I felt my blood turn cold.
Ortiz looked at the phone.
"That's impossible," she said.
May you like
The woman gave a short, frightened laugh.
"No. What's impossible is what he told everyone happened to me."
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