CHAPTER 3 They Knew We Had the Video
The smile lasted only a second.
Then the man in the black pickup started the engine.
I instinctively pulled Louisa closer.
She was sitting beside me in the interview room, hugging her stuffed bunny so tightly that one of its floppy ears had nearly come loose.
"Mommy?"
"It's okay, sweetheart."
It wasn't.
Not even close.
Detective Mason turned toward the window, his face hardening.
"Lock the rear exits," he barked to a uniformed officer. "Nobody leaves without my authorization."
Within seconds, the atmosphere inside the police station changed.
Phones rang.
Doors slammed.
Officers hurried from desk to desk.
Someone pulled down the security shutters over the front entrance.
The detective looked back at me.
"Stay here."
"What is happening?"
"I'll explain when I know more."
He left the room.
I could hear fragments of conversations through the glass.
"...black Ford F-150..."
"...Ohio plates..."
"...notify the FBI..."
The FBI?
My stomach twisted.
This had grown far beyond Lydia's bracelet.
Five minutes later, Detective Mason returned with a woman in a navy suit.
She looked to be in her early forties, calm, composed, and carrying a leather briefcase.
She placed a badge on the table.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"My name is Special Agent Rebecca Sloan."
She shook my hand gently.
"Mrs. Carter, Detective Mason believes your security footage may be connected to an open federal investigation."
I blinked.
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to. Not yet."
She sat across from me and opened her briefcase.
Inside were dozens of photographs.
Some showed passports.
Others showed shipping containers.
Several displayed smiling family portraits.
Every single family had one thing in common.
A red stamp marked each file.
MISSING.
My mouth went dry.
Rebecca slid one photograph toward me.
A little girl.
Four years old.
Brown curls.
Freckles.
She looked almost the same age as Louisa.
"Her name was Amelia Brooks."
Rebecca spoke softly.
"She disappeared from Toledo three years ago."
Another photo.
A teenage boy.
"Jacob Mills."
Another.
A young mother holding twins.
"The Hernandez family."
My breathing became uneven.
"What does this have to do with Walter?"
Rebecca folded her hands.
"For the last six years, we've been tracking an organization that steals identities."
"I thought identity theft was about credit cards."
"So did most people."
She shook her head.
"This group doesn't just steal identities."
She paused.
"They replace them."
A chill swept through me.
"I don't understand."
"Neither did the families."
Rebecca laid another photograph on the table.
This one made my blood freeze.
It was Walter.
Much younger.
Standing beside three men.
One of them...
was the stranger from the security footage.
There was no baseball cap this time.
His face was perfectly visible.
Dark hair.
Square jaw.
A thin scar above his left eyebrow.
His expression was emotionless.
"This man," Rebecca said, tapping the photograph, "is Victor Salazar."
"He has used at least twelve different names."
"He has never been convicted."
"And every time we get close..."
"He disappears."
I stared at Walter's smiling face.
"You're saying my father-in-law knows him?"
Rebecca met my eyes.
"We're saying much more than that."
She slid over another document.
It was dated eighteen years earlier.
At the top was Walter's full name.
Below it...
CONFIDENTIAL INFORMANT.
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Rebecca sighed.
"It means your father-in-law once worked with federal authorities."
"What?"
"For almost two years."
My head spun.
"Then why..."
"He betrayed them."
Silence filled the room.
Rebecca continued.
"He disappeared before he could testify."
"The entire case collapsed."
"And several witnesses vanished within months."
Detective Mason crossed his arms.
"We've believed for years that Walter became part of the very organization he was supposed to expose."
I looked down at Louisa.
She had fallen asleep against my shoulder again, exhausted from crying.
A wave of guilt washed over me.
How had I brought my daughter into this family?
How many warning signs had I ignored?
My thoughts drifted back to Elmer.
The first time we met.
He had been kind.
Funny.
Patient.
Nothing like Walter.
Nothing like Lydia.
Whenever I asked about his childhood, though...
he always changed the subject.
Now I wondered why.
Had he known?
Or had his parents hidden everything from him, too?
My phone vibrated.
A new message.
Blocked Contact.
Somehow it had still come through emergency delivery.
It was from Elmer.
Emily, please answer me. Dad says you stole money before leaving. Mom's bracelet turned up in your suitcase. They're talking about calling the police. Tell me this isn't true.
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was unbelievable.
They weren't just accusing Louisa anymore.
Now they were framing me.
Rebecca noticed my expression.
"What is it?"
I handed her the phone.
She read the message once.
Then twice.
"They planted evidence."
"I don't even have the suitcase they claim they searched."
Detective Mason nodded slowly.
"They're trying to control the narrative."
Rebecca stood.
"Which tells me one thing."
"What?"
"They're scared."
An hour later, officers escorted Louisa and me through a rear exit into an unmarked SUV.
"We're moving you somewhere safer," Detective Mason explained.
"No hotels."
"No public records."
"No one outside this vehicle will know where you're staying."
As we pulled away, I looked back toward the station.
The black pickup was gone.
For the first time that day, I allowed myself a tiny breath of relief.
It lasted less than thirty seconds.
The driver suddenly cursed under his breath.
"What?"
He pointed to the rearview mirror.
A dark SUV had turned onto the same street.
It stayed exactly four car lengths behind us.
Every turn we made...
it made.
Every stop...
it stopped.
Detective Mason quietly rested his hand on his holster.
"Don't panic."
Rebecca was already speaking into her radio.
"Possible tail. Eastbound on Broad Street."
The SUV behind us accelerated.
Its headlights flashed once.
Twice.
Then it pulled into the opposite lane.
For a heartbeat, I thought it was going to pass.
Instead, it swerved sharply across the center line.
Straight toward us.
"Hold on!" the driver shouted.
The world exploded into screeching tires and twisting metal.
The impact threw me sideways.
Glass shattered across the cabin.
Louisa screamed.
Airbags erupted with a deafening boom.
For several seconds, everything became white.
Then...
silence.
Blood trickled down my forehead.
I reached for Louisa.
She was crying, but alive.
"Mommy!"
"I'm here!"
Outside, I heard gunshots.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then someone shouted,
"He's running!"
I forced the damaged door open just enough to look outside.
The driver of the black SUV had climbed out.
He wasn't injured.
He wasn't trying to help.
He sprinted toward a nearby alley.
As he glanced back over his shoulder, I saw his face clearly for the first time.
It wasn't Victor Salazar.
It wasn't Walter.
It wasn't anyone from Elmer's family.
My breath caught.
Because I recognized him instantly.
He was Officer Daniel Pierce.
The same police officer who had taken my statement at the front desk that morning.
The man who had watched every second of my security footage.
May you like
The man who had known exactly where we were going.
And now he was running.
