Chapter 7 - The police moved Sophie to a secure location.I barely saw her before she was taken away.
The image of that last photograph wouldn't leave my mind.
Someone had watched her sleep.
Someone had seen us enter the station.
Someone had access to our movements.
The blue house was searched from top to bottom.
Behind a false wall, investigators found surveillance equipment.
Monitors.
Cameras.
Maps.
Our home.
Our workplace.
Sophie's school.
Even the grocery store we visited every Saturday.
Everything had been tracked.
A detective placed a binder on the table.
Inside were schedules.
My schedule.
Sophie’s schedule.
Mark's schedule.
But Mark's schedule was almost completely blank.
Except for one recurring note.
SUNDAY.
Every Sunday.
For six months.
“What happens on Sunday?” I asked.
Nobody knew.
Rachel sat across from me.
She had barely spoken since seeing the surveillance wall.
Then she said, “I do.”
Everyone looked at her.
“When Sophie was a baby, Mark said Sundays were important.”
“Why?”
“He called them transfer days.”
I felt cold.
“Transfer?”
Rachel nodded.
“He told me children were moved between temporary homes on Sundays.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“He said it was safer.”
Officer Harris looked sharply at Rachel.
“Safer for who?”
She hesitated.
“I never knew.”
That night, detectives discovered another hidden account belonging to Mark.
A bank account.
Money had been moving through it for years.
Small deposits.
Large withdrawals.
Always on Sundays.
Some payments had reference codes.
One was labeled:
M-17.
Another:
S-05.
A technician decoded the pattern.
M-17 was Mark's internal identifier from the old organization.
S-05 was Sophie's.
Mark wasn't just hiding Sophie.
He had categorized her.
Like a file.
Like inventory.
Then came the worst discovery.
There were six other children listed in the same account.
All under the age of seven.
The police contacted the families.
Three had no idea their children had ever been connected to the organization.
One mother broke down crying.
Another father threatened to sue everyone involved.
The fifth child was missing.
The sixth had been declared dead years earlier.
Rachel sat perfectly still.
Then she whispered:
“The dead child.”
“What?”
She looked at me.
“There was a little girl.”
She reached for the file.
“Her name was Lily.”
She stared at the picture.
“She had the same birthday as Sophie.”
I swallowed.
“Same birthday?”
Rachel nodded.
“Same hospital too.”
The detective immediately ordered a comparison of birth records.
Twenty minutes later, the result came back.
Sophie and Lily had been born twelve hours apart.
Two mothers.
Two records.
Same hospital.
And both names had passed through Mark's organization.
That wasn't a coincidence.
It was a system.
A system that had existed before Mark met me.
And maybe my marriage had been part of it from the beginning.
The detective found another document in Mark's account.
It was a contract.
A transfer agreement.
The child listed at the top was Sophie.
The date of transfer was two days away.
Sunday.
But there was something else.
Under the section marked Receiving Party, there was no name.
Only initials.
E.C.
Rachel's face drained of color.
“You know who that is?”
She nodded.
“I thought he was dead.”
“Who?”
Rachel looked at me.
“My brother.”
The room fell silent.
Then she said:
May you like
“Ethan Cole.”
And somewhere outside the building, a car engine started.
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