[CHAPTER 4]
I slept on the floor beside Sophie's bed that night.
I use the word slept generously.
Mostly I watched her breathe.
Every few hours she woke suddenly, sat up and looked toward the door.
Each time, I said the same thing.
“I'm here.”
At 3:18 in the morning, she whispered, “Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Can the door stay locked?”
“Yes.”
“Can Winston stay too?”
Winston was already curled beside the bed.
“Yes.”
She lay back down.
Ten minutes later, she asked, “Will Miss Vanessa come back?”
“No.”
I hoped I wasn't lying.
By sunrise, police had located Vanessa's abandoned car at a hotel parking garage in New Jersey.
She wasn't inside.
Her phone had last connected to a tower near Newark.
Detective Bennett believed she had switched vehicles.
My security team believed the same.
I wanted twenty armed guards surrounding the house.
The detective refused to let fear become chaos.
“Your daughter needs stability, not a military compound.”
“She needs safety.”
“She needs both.”
That morning a pediatrician examined Sophie.
I sat outside the room because Sophie asked Emily to stay with her.
That hurt.
Then I reminded myself that this wasn't about my feelings.
Afterward, Dr. Patel met with me privately.
“She is dehydrated, mildly underweight and showing signs consistent with chronic stress.”
“How bad?”
“Physically, I expect a full recovery.”
“And emotionally?”
She paused.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“What happens around her now.”
I leaned forward.
“Tell me what to do.”
“Don't interrogate her.”
“I haven't.”
“Don't make her responsible for your emotions.”
I looked down.
“Meaning?”
“If she sees you collapsing every time she speaks, she may stop speaking to protect you.”
That hit me hard.
“Don't repeatedly promise things outside your control.”
“I told her Vanessa won't come back.”
Dr. Patel's eyes held mine.
“Then improve the security and do everything possible to make that true.”
I nodded.
“She needs routines. Meals. Sleep. School when appropriate. Play. Choices.”
“Choices?”
“Abused children often lose control over basic things. Let her choose her pajamas. Her breakfast. Which book you read.”
It sounded painfully simple.
I had built companies using thousand-page plans.
Now the most important strategy in my life involved cereal and bedtime stories.
When I returned upstairs, Sophie was sitting on the carpet drawing.
She looked at me nervously.
“Am I sick?”
“No.”
“Do I need a shot?”
“No shots.”
She smiled slightly.
I sat beside her.
“What are you drawing?”
“Our house.”
The picture showed a huge square with windows.
Three people stood outside.
Sophie.
Me.
Claire.
My throat tightened.
Vanessa wasn't there.
“That's beautiful.”
She pointed at Claire.
“Mommy is in heaven, but I put her here.”
“You can put her anywhere you want.”
Sophie looked at me.
“Do you miss her?”
“Every day.”
“Miss Vanessa said you didn't.”
I kept my face calm.
“She was wrong.”
“She said Mommy would be mad at me.”
“For what?”
“For making you sad.”
I slowly put the crayon down.
“Sweetheart, you did not make me sad.”
“But you stopped eating dinner with me after Mommy died.”
The sentence hit deeper than any accusation.
I had.
I had buried myself in work because every room reminded me of Claire.
Every time Sophie laughed, I heard Claire.
Every time Sophie cried, I felt helpless.
So I left.
Not physically forever.
Just enough.
Enough for Vanessa to step into the space I abandoned.
“I was sad because Mommy died,” I said carefully. “And I made a mistake.”
Sophie stared at me.
“Grown-ups make mistakes?”
“All the time.”
“Big ones?”
“Yes.”
“What was yours?”
I swallowed.
“I wasn't here enough.”
She considered that.
“Because of work?”
“Partly.”
“You like work.”
“I do.”
“More than me?”
The question was quiet.
It destroyed me.
“No.”
“But you were there more.”
Children didn't care about intention.
They understood presence.
She was right.
“I was,” I admitted.
“Why?”
“Because work was easier.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Easier than me?”
“No. Easier than being sad.”
She looked at her drawing.
Then she handed me a blue crayon.
“Can you draw Winston?”
I nearly cried from relief.
“Yes.”
My dog looked like a deformed horse.
Sophie giggled.
It was the first real laugh I had heard from her since I came home.
Then Marcus appeared in the doorway.
He didn't interrupt immediately.
That told me the news was bad.
I kissed Sophie's head.
“I'll be right outside.”
She grabbed my sleeve.
“Where?”
“Right there.”
I pointed through the open doorway.
She released me.
I stepped into the hall.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“We found where the cloud videos were being sent.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
“A company.”
“What company?”
“Brighton Family Consulting.”
I knew the name.
It took me several seconds to remember why.
Then I did.
Vanessa had worked there before meeting me.
“She said they handled private household placement.”
“They do. Nannies. Caregivers. Estate managers.”
“What does that have to do with the videos?”
“We don't know.”
“Who owns the company?”
Marcus handed me a tablet.
A photograph appeared.
A silver-haired man in an expensive suit.
Graham Cole.
Vanessa's father.
I stared at the screen.
“She told me her father was dead.”
“He isn't.”
My skin went cold.
Marcus swiped to another page.
“There's more.”
Brighton Family Consulting had been involved in a civil lawsuit four years earlier.
A wealthy widower accused a caregiver placed by Brighton of manipulating him into changing his estate documents.
The case was settled privately.
Another family filed a complaint after an elderly woman signed power-of-attorney paperwork favoring a Brighton employee.
That case disappeared too.
I looked at Marcus.
“You think Vanessa targeted me.”
“I think Detective Bennett needs to see this.”
My phone rang.
Bennett.
I answered immediately.
“We found something.”
“So did I.”
“What?”
“We located Vanessa.”
I stood straighter.
“Where?”
“A motel outside Newark.”
Relief hit me.
“Do you have her?”
A pause.
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“She checked out twenty minutes before officers arrived.”
I swore under my breath.
“But she left something behind.”
“What?”
“An envelope addressed to you.”
I looked toward Sophie's room.
“What does it say?”
“We haven't opened it yet.”
“Open it.”
There was paper rustling.
Then silence.
“Maya?”
Her voice changed.
“Richard, don't bring Sophie anywhere today.”
“Why?”
“The note says, ‘You should have stayed at work.’”
My chest tightened.
“That isn't all.”
“What else?”
Bennett inhaled.
“There's a photograph in the envelope.”
“Of what?”
“Your daughter.”
I couldn't speak.
“When?”
“Taken this morning.”
I looked toward the bedroom.
Sophie was still on the carpet drawing.
Safe.
Inside the house.
Guards everywhere.
“How?”
“We're determining that.”
Then I saw movement beyond the upstairs window.
A dark shape near the trees at the edge of the property.
I stepped closer.
Nothing.
Maybe a branch.
Maybe not.
I called Marcus back.
“Lock the property down.”
He didn't ask why.
Within seconds, alarms activated.
The gates closed.
Security moved.
Sophie appeared behind me holding her drawing.
“Daddy?”
I turned.
Her smile was gone.
“Is she coming?”
I crouched.
“No one is getting to you.”
She stared at my face.
Children know when adults are afraid.
“Promise?”
I looked into her eyes.
This time I chose my words carefully.
“I promise I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
She hugged me.
My phone buzzed.
A security alert.
Motion detected near the east fence.
Marcus's voice came through my earpiece.
“Sir, we found someone.”
My entire body tensed.
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Who?”
A pause.
Then Marcus said, “It's a man.”
May you like
Another pause.
“And he has a camera full of photographs of Sophie.”
